Hammer upon hammer. Nail upon nail. All this pent up rage will burst some day. Upon whom, upon what, I cannot say. Every minute hurts. Every hour lived is just so absurd. There is so much to do, and what am I doing. And why am I doing it. These aren’t questions meant to be answered. The answer is known. The point of raising such questions again and again and again is this – when the fuck will I fucking wake up. I hate when people begin to sympathise for whatever reasons. Are you ok? Are you alright? Are you sick? I don’t give a shit because answering those questions doesn’t make any difference to my state of being. If it did, I would definitely give a shit. People ask all kinds of stuff out of compulsions. Fucking bastards and their fucked up compulsions. For now, as the clock closes in on midnight, I badly want to pick up a fight. A good fight. A blood and bones kind of fight. A fight of mad punches and kicks. A fight just for the sake of fighting. A hell of a fucking good fight. I’ve been intact for long. I’ve been a worthless purposeless consumer for so long. It’s time I explode.
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