You wouldn’t fucking believe it, the way my life turned out to be. It’s not even funny anymore. I used to think that there’s some sort of silver lining somewhere. That it’s going to be worth all this. But it’s not. It seethes and reeks you up and rots you until escape is the only thing necessary.
Yeah there were moments when I believed. Juita’s eyes on fucking skyscrapers on a rainy Sunday afternoon. Looking at the sea from her balcony. Her sweet heavy hand on my belly. But who gets caught up with these things anyway now. Its pain baby, that’s what everybody talks about these days.
Yeah suicide this, depression that. Palahniuk, Bukowski, Self. Fucking Ishiguro and fucking clones. Who gives two shits? I for one, don’t.
And life was meant to be beautiful, you know. For everyone. You’re supposed to be sad when you leave it. It breaks your heart to see all, everything you’ve ever known or love fade out like bad youporn porn.
And these things are supposed to be short. It’s supposed to develop some kind of reaction from life. You know, the thing you’re living behind. So sign off I will.