The thing about power, child, is that it corrupts.

I regret everything. Almost every decision has caused me to become the failure I am.

I want to kill my younger self. So that I never existed.

I don’t deserve anything. Why am I alive?

Why do I strive to survive, when there’s nothing to survive for?

I do not joke often; I speak my heart only to be taken lightly.

The world is a cruel dream that will end with you being forced to accept reality.

There is no hope. Mere wishful thinking is what keeps us alive.

Helplessness is a natural fear… it grips within and tears you to pieces as you are frozen, forced to be a witness to your own uselessness.

Is death a gate or a wall? An entrance or a blockade? Endless peace or endless life?

I suffer, therefore I am.

Carpe Diem! And yet I fail every time to reach out for that which I can.

Death, death, death, surrounding me. Not open, no… no one around has a pure soul… all have had their innocence stabbed to death.

I hate but I love the same person at the same time. A toxic but necessary relationship. A desire to both stab and kiss… how absurd.

To be cheerful is to hurt inside. To be quiet is to hurt inside. To be anything is to hurt inside. Why put any effort?

Suffering. Pain. Loneliness. Longing. Foolish hope. Hurt. Desire. Addiction. No rinse, repeat. Guilt.