i feel my fate in what i cannot fear.
i do not fear the end of emptiness, i do not dread the void.
i exist below the living, as i have for four years strong.
i abhor awakening, i despise the darkness, all i know is numb.
i am sick. my mind is sick, just like my father before me, and i am afraid i will know his end.
because death sounds better than self-loathing, better than emptiness, better than this bitter existence.
this illness is the only thing i know, the only constance, the only thing that's stayed.
and god, it will never end.
