I want to crumble freeways, set hills ablaze, and collapse roofs. I want to be a massive fatal trauma. Gage I have become insomniac. I feel desires I can't control, a restlessness which will not let me be. My time awake is steeped in a feeling of violent futility.
Nobody can explain what life is for.
Nothing satisfactory is offered up. There're too many nagging, unappeased why's and not enough in recompense, in the in-betweens, proving worthwhile. I catch myself feeling satisfied and just as soon recognize the ridiculousness of all I say and do. I wish I could be happy, but even that seems such a joke. I'd have to cauterize my consciousness to live such a lie, and my only hope would be to burn away self-perception.