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It feels as if misery is trying to crawl itself out from my chest and burst out my ribcage. It’s a darkness that out shadows that of any other darkness; the force of hopelessness. It starts out small, and slowly, steadily expands itself like a bubble blown from the mouth of a small child. In their youthful innocence blissfulness is a relief, unknown to the horrible reality of life. Soon they grow up, as do all others, and are sooner or later smacked in the face with the truth of it, if they are not dead before then, which would be a relief to their little souls. It starts in the school stage of elementary, and follows parallel to it, like a serpent surrounding its prey, taunting it and waiting to attack. It does not attack straight away, but toys with you until you are dead, no matter how many years that can take. It lashes out at random moments, and sucks on the misery and depression until you are six feet under the ground or scattered remnants of a burnt corpse.

Hopelessness, depression, anxiety; there are too many words to describe life. There are its advantages, yes, but what is the use of advantages when they are outweighed by the crap that it is filled with? And if we are born to die, what is the point of being born in the first place? What is the use of life, if not to be a punishment for a sin up there in the clouds?  

So many questions, the answer of which will never be discovered until the end of time. Curse us with curiosity and leave us in the dark like a mushroom. That is the purpose of life. Nothing else matters.

Death comes as a relief to everyone, be it a child, a grown adult, or a withered man or woman already in the grips of it. Six feet under the ground is where we all belong, where the maggots can slowly but surely eat at our flesh until we are nothing but bone. Nothing but a pile of indiscernible heaps of death.

Nothing but hopelessness in itself.


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