do not ask me why.
smoking is the most excellent way to keep a man like he's stabled, and no one to get him pretending as curing himself. stalling is the key, fits in the hole named ignorance. if you die, you lose. they just name is as lung cancer. if you succeed, then you are no one among all the lying identities. no one harms no one. it's a win-win. or lose-lose. it still stays still in the conciousness of being ignored.
symptoms for basics, they're ahead of the road being sick.
i'm sick of it, all of them. like everything has cut a slice of me with fruit. they're enjoying it, they love me so that just a knife can reach the aroma of bloody blood flows.
i'm a jerk, wuss, coward, the most pathetic guy i've ever known, a douche bag who perfectly fits in the scale of being anyone. i'm the pain. just aches me, or makes me get used to be suffering, which leaves the way to heal.
i'm sick of it all. you pay attention, it's worthless. you ignore, you're worthless. you suffer, scar isn't exist. you just want to get away, your cuffs tie you down. you fall down, you fall down.
i wanted something, to make things better. to open a gate that bring me something that really helps to make turn an average day into an halcyon one. i'm sick of failing, i'm sick of falling.
if everything goes bad, who's the guilty one? the way? the machinist guy? the directions?
actually, it seems nothing's going right, or funny, it's the way it's meant to be, i don't care. i'm trying to build a map, pencil breaks apart, parchment tears. oh irony, so it shall be not epic then, aigh?
IT SHOULD BE EPIC!
a man goes down. even though he seems like he needs help to get slower, all the man needs is a lie. it's not a way to the fall. it's just a dream that no one can handle to wake up. unbearable.
you want something, you always do.
someone does it better, or someone does it as just the right quantity. someone gets it.
you want something more now, the thing you wanted first, and to banish this shame out of your body.
someone does it never. you suffer.
i'll never get anything that'll cure me. no assist, no advice... it'll sure go bad, as it can go worse. it'll always be the worst til that moment.
a man with a disease. his brain tells that he's suffering with a fatal pain. any painkiller can't help his despair. he doesn't have actually. his brain lies. he dies because of the pain. it kills.
i'll never get better. and got used to it.
from now on, i quit hoping anything, any good-willing, anything that measures actually.
tired of it so. halcyon day won't come upon, or the sun, the brightest one one shine on the land of mine.
here's worse. but it's in my pattern.
being with anyone related, but me.