who am i writing to? i don’t know, no one, or more specific, it’s me – myself.
i thought i could handle the loneliness, but when i really was, i realized that couldn’t… my family pushed me out long ago, no friends, no one to talk to, just some works and shits to keep myself from having enough time to feel anything, and waiting to die; well to be fair, good things tend to happen sometimes but ofc i f’cked them all up.
life is just a big-ass prison, no? we are all trapped, imprisoned within our own mind, we need to be told what to do and how to live, everyday the same routine rolls, and after that? even more routines. sadly we are all pinned to it, can’t do shit to change it ’cause we are too pity, so we get used to it, work hard so we can afford to rest, to see all those nonsenses and finally decided to close our eyes. wanna prove me wrong? then explain all those fantasy entertainments, or drugs, and – well, so irony – that why we are here on this site rn?…we want to escape, for seconds? for minutes? for hours? or forever, doesn’t matter how long, but we need an escape from this cruel prison, where we were told to dream big, and then eventually learned how to stfu. this flying rock of the universe has a very strange way of life for its people.
i couldn’t do shits to change my life either, that’s why i’m here. sometimes i dream of another worlds, another realities where i’d not been so f’cked up, where i knew how to talk to people, or even better, where i’d never been existed.
“I sometimes wish I’d never been born at all”
(first-time writing something, and sorry for my broken english)