Silencer, on 24 December 2013 - 11:39 PM, said:
Another year, another Christmas. Wooo!
Ah well, presents are always good, I guess.
Life. Life! Do not talk to me of
life. Life is a steady decline of the bag of poorly constructed flesh that constitutes your body. Life is the illusion of choice, the idea that you are anything more than electricity and that at the end you will not die. Life. Life is death. The sorrow of it all crushes down on my bruised heart and I feel pain. So much pain. The pain of living. The pain of dying. We are all doomed, yet most of us pretend otherwise. They fill their lives with meaningless trinkets like love, happiness, delight. I am above such things. I am an animal, like we are all animals, and all I feel is pain.
Everything is grey. The world is dull, faded. I cut myself to bring colour into the world. The colour red. To represent my
pain. It is red. Red and hot. And filled with pain. Like my heart. Which is dead.
Life. Do not talk to me of life.
Ah well, presents are always good, I guess.
This post has been edited by Morgoth: 25 December 2013 - 12:15 AM