The thoughts flitting across my mind say that I should write them down. I should find a language for them. For my peculiar suffering. For if I don’t, I may not understand myself and the depths of my soul would remain undiscovered, uncharted. Abstract thoughts.
But, I want to write about something real. Something that helps me understand myself. To write it down even if I can’t say it to myself or am scared to tell my closest friends. What is it?
What is the web I’ve woven around me? What is the illusion I’m surrounded by, the oppressive images and perceptions of reality that have yoked me to world leaving me exhausted, each day, every day…With no energy left to struggle with the demons, I give in to the pleasures, the emptiness of my beastly existence, as they distract me from my slow, ongoing annihilation.

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