Have you breathed of despair?

Something reeking of possibility has stolen upon me.
I hate the possible.

Fuck it. Fuck possibility and what can or will or shan't or should be. I will burn like a funeral pyre on the mountaintop, and I will shudder with the quiet power of what can't be done, because I will fucking do it.

Stop me stop me try and stop me, I'll run through like a red-hoofed bull.

I just want to tell the damn story.