The happy memories, the painful memories...# can't see them, hear them or tell them.
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Buildings are calling ##.
Even if # can reach what is across the wall, # won't. The body is dangerous, it doesn't like our minds a lot. The body is our enemy so, nothing is bad about beating it. Nothing is bad about murdering the body that commands you, in which you keep closed. But even if your body got in half and everything inside it went outside to sight, you wouldn't because you are nothing. It's absurd, it was never important.
It was never enough. Exist is basic, is never enough. # need something far away from existing, because it would be enough, unlike existing. Death, dear death, i'm in love with your details, not with your word, not with your depictions, because you are something beautiful. Death is everything to ##, comfort, despair, hope, disturb, and other awful tags # love, someone is trembling right now because of the joy.
You were not made for this world, this world wasn't made for you. It's hard to accept, the shame is always present, we were supposed to be this, we were supposed to be that. But it's just fair and people can't be able to accept it. They will remember the parts they wanted and needed to see about you, they will made fun and comment things you never even saw in yourself. It's beautiful. You are never important, but the horror of people when they realize you decided to be gone is stronger, so your remainings will keep with them until they had died and then you'll be forgotten forever.
Four walls forever. Lay down on your bed and close your eyes, try to run away that way. That is the only thing you can do if you are not feeling brave. Oh, how hopeless everything is, it would be easier to take a plastic bag and tie it to your head. Then, why is it so hard to take a step further? We are such ridiculous creatures, we feel so strongly but at the same time can't get dominated by those beautifully tragic feelings.
Is it painful? Is it lifestyle? Complexity is the bless of this world, ## poison. You should learn about the world, about other beings, about creatures, about why does some things happen. But world doesn't own you a thing, and you have no right to be remembered. You are a single individual who owns a big doubt to the world by maintaining you and keeping you conscious. You are not appreciated, there are other people who could kill you to have what you are supposed to have. People who has some memories about you will die too. It's better, it's better like that. # can't pay my doubt, # should better die and let resources to other piles of dust.
Wondering, being curious, but trying not to approach too much to the greed of learning. If you try to get close, you will get destroyed. No, you won't get destroyed, you will destroy yourself. There's something happy about it. You try not to get too close.
Es odioso. Podría ser mejor, claro, podría serlo. Maldita sea, ¿por qué no lo intentas? Por tu patria, por tu familia, por todo aquello que amas...¿no te causa simpatía? Vaya, estamos atrapados. Es culpa de la sociedad, es culpa de nuestros genes, es culpa de la familia es culpa de...no. Hay demasiado, demasiado en que pensar. "Filosofar demasiado corrompe la mente" y no hacerlo lo suficiente también. Demonios, quier# morir y eso no importa. Todos morimos podemos morir lo haremos y nos han demostrado que somos inferiores, no podemos cambiarlo, a nadie le importa si inhalamos helio o rompemos nuestro cuello. Vivimos en un mundo tan humano...claro, pero es porque nosotros no llegamos a la cima para anunciar todo lo que ocurre. Es exótico, es impensable, inimaginable, ¿por qué nunca lo fue para ##? ¿Por qué todos quieren vivir? Las piezas siguen sin completarse, se ha roto en pedazos la cabeza.
Por favor, date cuenta. No importamos, somos vidas sueltas, a nadie le interesa lo que hagamos y no hagamos. Luchamos, pero hemos nacido aquí, el escape no es más que físico. Debo aceptarl#, dej# de tener valor desde el día en que me form# en el vientre. En este lugar, con esta gente, con este alrededor, con esta desesperación, no hay una mano que nos tome a un mejor lugar. ¿Quieres morir? No nos importa. Quieren dinero, quieren bienestar, ¿para qué preocuparse? La autocompasión me atormenta, está mal, pero, cuando damos tantas vueltas, ¿qué más queda? ¿Por qué debe importar algo tan estúpido cuando estás a punto de comprar helio y tomar una bolsa plástica para llevarte lejos, lejos de aquí? No importa, no hay nadie que te diga lo contrario, nadie que corrija tu mente porque no importa que lo hagas. Oh, demonios, ¿cómo es que todos ustedes no piensan en ello, no lo hacen? No son felices pero tampoco parecen ser infelices pese a que todo va en decadencia día tras días. ¿Por qué? Oh, ¿por qué no se matan? ¿Por qué no sienten esto? ¿Cómo lo hacen? No importa cuantos libros, cuantas revelaciones, el destino ha sido decidido y no ## dispuest# a aceptarlo.