The Lonely Road to Self-Destruction
The Tragic Journey of a Troubled Soul
You are a concave entity who takes pleasure in the suffering of others.
Pain is your only material. You are still a young child.
It’s Easter, the family is gathered in a house, and you lock yourself in a room, crying until late into the night, disrupting the joy of the people there.
You take pleasure in proving yourself as mentally ill, mixed with the pain of not actually wanting to be like that at that moment.
You must play the role of pain, and you become engrossed in it. As time goes on, this harms you, leading you towards a point of insanity.
The black and white pages of newspapers await you after your mother.
Because you believe in your role, the plot of the game is praised as superb and you are applauded for the penalties you receive.
And you grow up; You grow up alone.
Nothing happens to anyone else; you just destroy yourself. You can’t blame fate; you did it yourself.
The voice of your soul whispers that no one has the right to live, it’s a cold and dark night.
You raise your hand, one, two, three taxis don’t stop. Suddenly, a taxi approaches.
It says,
‘I’m not comfortable with you walking in the cold, where are you going?’
You tell it a place you don’t know and wait for the end of your journey, like a silent snake, without questioning.
You take out your gun and fire three shots from behind. You check if he’s dead, get out, collect the empty shells, slap the dying taxi driver twice on the cheek.
It says,
‘You shouldn’t trust anyone,’
And you blend into the darkness, knowing what a despicable person you are.
