My time has passed and I am failed. I have done so much harm by being, been so stupid. If my heart could hear me, it would sieze and die. I am wasting my energies, writing what I think. I have broken shells in my pockets for all I have ever done. Should I wash up on your beach, I am sorry.
I am entirely negative, incapable. I am selfish, and poorly motivated. I am piss in your pool. I am a warm beer mistaken for cold. I am the crunch you hear backing into your neighbor's car. I am the letter you left on the copier glass. I am gangrenous.
My days, spent alone, doing nothing. Too numerous, too cruel to count. Doing nothing does not mean "shade tree mechanic" or "active hobbiest", it means, nothing. Sleeping, sitting, lying, standing, staring. I can't think of a single benefit to moving. I think of things I'd like to do, things I am free to do, but there is no point in them. I hardly hate myself enough. I deceive myself, this is not living.