I don’t know what to do. I’m writing this and it’s all so sketchy. There are days I’m not paranoid and then there are days where I question if I should trust the world and my loved ones. I’m just a fucked up statement of life. I hate life and everything it consists of. I don’t wanna see the sun shining and the clouds passing by. I don’t wanna see the grass and the food we eat that in the majority is micro-processed. I feel so burdened with my thoughts, for they consume me entirely. I am not me anymore, I am a curvature of a broken life. I’ve been writing poetry lately and I’m thinking of taking it off Facebook. I don’t know if the people that read my stuff are plotting against me or something. On a daily basis I struggle with the thoughts of why am I here? What is my purpose? Life is a routine and I’m rotting away. I think of how freaky it is that we see through these eyes and walk with our limbs. Like omg, it’s not cool. It’s like I’m repulsed by everything and anything, why do we have an environment and why are things ours instead of someone else’s. Our stuff has our aura on it. It’s all weird. I’m paranoid most days. I’m anxious with pins and needles through my body and my body gets so hot that I be thinking I have high blood pressure or something. I’m the definition of the walking dead. There’s nothing that life has to offer me besides the possibility of music fulfilling me. But even then, music gets me paranoid. I think music talks to me, even the radio. I refuse to listen to the radio most of the time. I try so hard to tell my mind that’s its all in my mind. I just wanna be non-existent. But on the other hand life is all I’ve known. What happens after death?