i am sick. i am sick. i am sick.
just a label, just a feeling, just words.
when i don't care about the present moment, when i am neutral about it, when i am dissatisfied - those are all times i want to fall back and never return.
i want to be done. i want to be gone.
sick fantasies visit my mind. i don't care, i don't care.
i've known them all along. i've met this insanity more times than i had to.
it's alluring, it's promising nothing, which is so much better than what the hell this is.
i also know the lot of it is lies. i want to live, i want to get better, i want to see something more than what i see every day. four walls, commute, four walls and more four walls like a recursion.
life is so repetitive and i don't get how people seem to enjoy it.
the one thing that is not repetitive is learning. there is so much to learn, and it upsets me that people would rather spend the time carelessly, without thought, only to get through the day.
i am not the type of person to socialize at all. if i could have my own cubicle at work, i'd be happier. or at least i think i'd be. i don't want to wonder. i don't have to overthink it. i can make it happen in my mind, and that's really enough.
i am bored, i am waiting for the day's end so i can forget about this whole existence. it's nothing new. it's all the same patterns. even if i break through sometimes, i am sent back into the system that keeps me here.
i am a number among numbers. i am nothing special.
i hate people. i am people. maybe that's too much passion - i am just indifferent, just out there, in imaginary space, a place that's undefinable, where words fade, and i am gone, so gone, and it's a good thing.
being here feels like a punishment of the worst kind. why am i here? the better question to ask, why am i still here?
