A real depressed human won't slit wrists
or commit suicide.
The meaningless existence is the prison of routine
to suppress the anger and wretchedness
on ones mind, an ever burdening process.
Once you break, you're broken,
and some form of relief may erupt
due to your confirmation that "i will decay alone
in a cold room surrounded by darkness
the way I entered this world
because you know why? That is all
this sick, cruel world can offer me.
I should have had the power to control
how much hatred I thrust upon a person,
a nation, or a God, but hell if I fucking care.
Every idiot in this world
should suffer the way I do until death."
A catacomb is a school locker.
We have filed away our books and our folders,
an exchange system of ideas
to think of the mastermind puzzle: How can we create a God
to erase existence off the Earth?
A bubonic plague