I keep myself from sleeping thinking that if I was to wake with the rising sun that I would have to live another day. There is nothing different about how I feel emotionally, how I regard life in general. I have not become more sensitive to the smaller things. It is not unusual to find myself silently weeping with an ever familiar pain memory so skillfully resurrects just for me to lament.

With each breath that I inhale is a hope it may be the last required for whatever crime I committed. From the continued battle of life, I have developed Post, Present, and Future Traumatic Stress Disorder.  I refuse to explore this state of being;  I am too tired for stupidity. If there be a God, I will not accept excuses as to the why he has played cat and mouse with humanity since its formation. How can anyone believe in a God with whiskers? 

With the exportation of universal misery by revered psychopaths found in all religions, it should not be unreasonable to demand compensation for what little there is left to call one’s own. I am tired of being human, tired of rationalizing, tired of contradictions, and the state of everything neglected, the most being me by those whose pretentious love is nauseating and of which I consider as the ultimate betrayal.   

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