Living dead

Now smoking is the only thing, I can feel myself interested in.
I can feel the pleasure.
Pleasure of betrayal perhaps?

I don’t want any friend to accompany me.
I’m betrayed enough to get my things myself.
I’m dead on my feet living this lie.
My life is a lie.
And my existence is false.

Let me be far away from here.
Somewhere far,
where truth is honoured rather than cheated.
If I’m true doesn’t mean that I’m not smart.
I’m smart so I’m true.

Now, I won’t fight back anymore.
I already told you I’m tired.
I’m no more famished to try out this life.
They say,
To live a lie is the greatest sin.
And so my life is a sin, perhaps.
I’m a forlorn figure, yearning for everything single thing.

This life is a labyrinth, probably.
A labyrinth where everyone’s opinions make these paths look entangled, even more.
I feel confused.
I don’t get, even the simplest of my life.
I feel woebegone with every gloomy moment.

I’m not patient enough to wait.
Either of us have to leave.
It feels all so gloomy again.
Can’t you just perish off this face of the earth?
My eyes pain each time I see you.
Everyone’s voice is irritating nowadays.
Epicedium, perhaps?
I’m already dead.
A living dead.

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