Violin and me.

Something doesn’t feel right on the days I am not suffering. Imagine how hard the axe of life would have hit me to want all the sufferings for myself. I sit full of hunger on a Sunday evening. I sit and I want more than just sitting. I want the pleasures of being beaten down. I wish to be brought to tears by something so good and killing. I wish to be nailed on the wall. I wish to be held in chains and shown the truth and the ugliness of utter everyday slaughter. The truth and what is it and what do I know and why do I care anyways. I get hunted everyday. My face and my mind carry their claw marks everyday. I wish that something is done to me so that I am reminded that I am still here. Tomorrow, well, it will be just another day. It will come and it will go and I will be here in this chair of mine after my day long battle and maybe have a drink and maybe write some more shit that doesn’t fucking matter. I will be here sooner or later and that’s all I will have.

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