meridien

a part of me that grows more engorged with every passing day wants to end it all and admit this experiment was simply a mistake from the beginning, that i control nothing, least of all myself.

perhaps we the human race have made this god and this book, it has turned into a self-fulfilling prophocy of the mundane nature of evil unbound and unchecked. . . it is all shit anyway.

i'm fucking sick of trying to feel something, all that's left to do now is gun down every emotion until none are left standing.

i have no idea why i so fiercely protect these ideas from anyone, this mediocracy makes everything seem so unappealing, since they are mine, i must cover my belly and lower my eyes.

why do i bother to lie to anyone ? i cannot even tell the truth to myself.

i cannot work up enough initiative to to fuck anyone, including myself, up till a half an hour ago. . . i would have fucked someone, but can only picture myself punching them square in the face as i rode their cock. this paragraph leaves a bad taste in my mouth but remains never-the-less.