“i dream of shining hand guns, their bullets like sperm ejaculating violently. however bullets and brains do not breed life and instead conceive catastrophic messes, still a bullet would do my mind no good, for it is already black and dead and decomposing. you’d think a mind like this would be at peace, but the flies keep me up at night, their fat, ugly, larvae chewing on the rotting carcass. they know nothing of me and do not wish to. to them i am breakfast, lunch, dinner, snacks, and desert, and no one likes to name their meal. you give it a name and you give it a life, and once you give it a life it is something. im sick of being something its exhausting and hurts so much. so im trapped, damned to never sleep and to be eaten slowly, slowly, slowly, until one day i finally die. what peace.”
i found this while walking on the train tracks today, i think it might be someone’s suicide note. whatever it is, i found it interesting and i relate to this a lot.