[ WP ] An immortal being is explaining why he would like to die

Scribbles and scratches. Once we start to color outside the lines, what is left? It's not as if there's some deeper meaning to be found outside the boundaries, and meaning is what we're searching for. Or is it just to be remembered? Well, I will be remembered, I can tell you that much. If not for the lives I have mysteriously taken throughout the millennia, it will be for the inventions I have wrenched bleeding and screaming from the unknown into being just for their sake of being. Sure, an insurmountable army of eyes will behold them for generations to come and think them miracles, but for me they are trifles. And yes, I was given a burst of a chemical here or there in the brain for having nurtured these ideas from the miracle of birth through the various harbors of life. 
 
 At a certain point, sailing from one harbor to another is not a chore, it's an escape. But it does n't excuse the sheer loss of meaning once you start to feel the walls, the edges, the boundary. Once you've expanded that much, you might as well start looking inward. Because that's the only place left to expand. 
 
 I've reached the edge and found the back of my head. There's nothing left for me here. No burst of chemical is enough to drag my tired army of atomic dust forward. I surrender. Let me become what is else, what is new, what is old, I do n't care. 
 
 Meaning left me cold and hungry long ago.
