Status: I won't be writing much because this is what I write when I feel REALLY depressed.
The Woes of an Unkempt Bed
Immortality
Lately I am so tired. I fear I am dying slowly in this cage, though I can’t lie and say death is not a welcome sentiment. Just the taxation of the trial that has become my day-to-day struggle of like exhausts me to the point of where I don’t even want to move anymore. I’ve given up.
I don’t believe it to be the food they’re giving me or the motion of the boat or the bile that rises in my throat when I see those uniforms; it’s a dampened spirit, a loss of hope, the desperately real feeling pounding relentlessly in my head that I am no longer worth anything to anyone.
I will welcome death.
I don’t believe it to be the food they’re giving me or the motion of the boat or the bile that rises in my throat when I see those uniforms; it’s a dampened spirit, a loss of hope, the desperately real feeling pounding relentlessly in my head that I am no longer worth anything to anyone.
I will welcome death.