Why am I even writing this?

"I don’t bother sleeping... at least if it’s not through the cracks, in any case, when I break free from this flesh cage, I’ll spend eternity in that state, without any time limit. So why bother? Besides, it includes the most disgusting thing in my eyes, well, aside from myself.

And that’s dreams. That damn illusion where you think you can do anything, and everything you want just falls into your hands without you doing a thing. And you know that’s not true, and in order to achieve it, you try, and no matter how much you try, it blows up in your face over and over again.

And the most fun part is that every attempt just makes you feel like a stupid, useless zero! And you come to realize that bullshit like dreams is just a way to inject hope into life, or meaning, or make you think they’re worth something. Oh, think you’re some famous personality or a Nobel laureate! But no, no, no! They’re just a way to cope and waste your existence, which is already a fucking waste of time that leads nowhere and is meaningless!"

The use of the keychain as a tool to end the waste of time and meaning called life wasn’t the smartest thought. The chains were much more effective, though now, when I think about it, why did I even bother? I had countless hours of loneliness with a rifle and magazines because I was nothing more than a tool to warm chairs in the Gold Pages department,

no matter how much you want to contribute or help, all you do is show how much of an idiot you are, with hands full of nothing, doing nothing that matters. And why am I even crying about this? I'm just a narcissistic, worthless person who talks about things he'll never do just to get recognition. DUM SHIT, DUM DUM SHIT! With a Why am I even continuing with this damned nightmare,

You think you're helping someone? No! They always thank you and praise you for the effort to help, when all you're doing is destroying and driving everyone around you crazy. And they won’t dare admit it because of this useless thing called morality and the pathetic attempt not to hurt anyone, which only makes it worse.

I would appreciate myself a lot less if they just told me to my face how useless I am, a waste of a spot in this damn existence. Ahh, aaah! I had it in my mouth, all I had to do was pull the trigger, and everything would be gone. Ahh, aah, aah, aah!

But no, you’re too much of a coward, and because of this stubborn, worthless insistence on continuing to live, thinking you’ll see the world or engage in creative projects, even though you know you won’t because you know it leads nowhere.

You just keep pressing buttons, thinking about all the things you could have done but didn't, because you're not willing to admit it’s all just wasting time, and so another day passes, and another day, and another, and another. Aah, aah, ahhh and you fucking know it!

And to top off this whole pile of joy and happiness, the fact that your hands and mouth lock up at the smallest amount of pressure, turning you into nothing more than a flesh cage for all the thoughts that just want to get out but can’t, because you think someone might care.

But breaking news, and in the headlines, no one cares!! They’ll look at it like any useless ink blot, and continue with their lives. And why would anyone even want to waste their new iPhone or their chest or face surgery appointment on this piece of selfish garbage I am, unloading my crap on others.

For that, there are friends, right?" I answered myself as I remembered those times when the term actually had some meaning in my life. Ha ha ha, I really should’ve practiced my hand speed, although there were times when... I shook my head.

What the hell does it matter! I don’t need any of this! Those days are gone anyway, and they’re just an obstacle to fulfilling my aspirations, even though I actually managed to achieve most of them. Who am I fooling? Why did I end up in this pile of papers that’s just pouring salt on what I used to be? And I even thought it would lead me somewhere, just because I’m fucking Midas.