its all i do
all i do is get out of my seat to change the cd. i don't even talk much. i spend my days sitting through each cd, spacing out to the strange melodies. i know each of by heart though i don't focus on the lyrics. when there's nothing but the noise echoing through my brain it isn't too hard to pick up.
this cd player, seemingly shiny and new for the care i give it, is surely disgusted at me. it witnesses my broken self doing nothing to rectify the minimal damage suffered by me, and making the issue worse and worse. it watches as i sit in place, entirely absent from the reality i'm ruining.
the machine sighs as the cd tray hisses out so i can change the disc. when i press it back, it sighs once more.
i sigh back.
YOU ARE READING
my crappy, existential thoughts dump
Randomnote from the far future, in much better times; consider this book a diary, an archive, a live day by day biography- of the lowest point of my life so far. draw entertainment from it, by all means, but take it as a warning, of all the bad that comes...
