Time

How much longer will I keep surrendering to disillusion? Every direction I look, the ground vanishes. There are no signs, no paths, no trace of happiness left.

What time touches, it kills. It crushes. It turns to dust. Words rot in the wind, scattered and pointless, lost in a reality too cruel to care.

Failure. That’s all there is.

There’s no beauty here.

I reject every angel who pretends to wish me well.

This is hell — and I live every goddamn second of it, with no chance of parole.

Once again, I breathe. Once again, I swallow my defeat dry, beaten down by ugly truths, dressed up with fake smiles, empty phrases, and lies.

I fight for what doesn’t exist. Because somewhere inside, I still think I deserve it. Because somewhere inside, I believe it should exist.

And every time, I realize: I fight alone.

Another premature amputation. Another dream aborted without warning, without forgiveness, without reason.

It’s always me. Always.

I’m done.

I want to tear out anything inside me that still dreams. Anything that flickers, anything that hopes — I want it dead.

I want my soul in permanent abstinence — deaf, dumb, paralyzed, beyond saving. I search for myself where I should never have existed. I build myself in worlds that reject me — and every time, I’m erased.

I wait for someone to drag me out of this catastrophe that devours me day after day.

I don’t want change.

I want someone who adapts to me — for me — without asking why.

For now, nothing even comes close to making me happy.


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