I’m sure I’m not living, I’m slowly dying. I came to life when I was born and then the imminent process of death commenced, beyond my comprehension of medical science, of magic potions, of healthy diets and breathing air that is 21 percent of oxygen, I have come to sense that I’m not living, I’m merely surviving and nearing death. Living is a term given to slow death to avoid any panics or uproars in humans. We are simply dying, slowly but surely and living in the disguise of death, how intriguing and horrifying that is, isn’t it?
I’m at my extreme form and I have a queer sense of sentiments. I walk the streets at 5 am and I want to be everyone that I see or seek but not me. I have been me for ages and it’s starting to feel cancerous. Troubled memories, loss of sanity and depraved of ghost smiles, I have lost me. I rise with the sun and sleep against the moon but all I wish is to never wake and slumber dark and deep. I was small and I grew tall and was lifted off my feet, but I have no alibi to go on, I need eternal sleep.