I don’t want to be like my father. But deep down in my rotten soul, filled with sorrow and guilt I know I am him. I can’t run from my past, family, mistakes nor guilt. I will die not knowing what kind of person am I.

I’m jealous, I get easily annoyed, I’m not good enough for this world to keep going and poisoning the Earth with my scent. Its pointless. My life is pointless. Life is pointless.

Every time when I think about live I get dizzy. The existence of human beings was a big mistake made by universe. Polluting a perfectly good planet with insect like humans. Humans that break it slowly till it will collapse on itself from exhaustion . It would be better off without us.

I speak too much, I want to sew my lips together to prevent myself from letting out my voice. Or to cut my tongue off and starve to death in agony. I deserve to suffer for eternity for my deeds. Get stabbed multiple times and left to bleed in a small room without any light or help, downing in my screams echoing through the building.

I image death as a warm hug. The look on the mothers face when she got informed that her child isn’t dead. My grandma’s cooking or her presence. Parents both alive. My first drawing which I drew in the kindergarten. I want death to be comfortable, relatable and kind like a person who understands you more than you ever will know. Death is the only way out of this prison.

I want to die,i always craved it. I just want to be worse.