If there’s a God, He seems to be bent on destroying me. If there isn’t a God, existence is pointless. Maybe I’m just bitter. I don’t know. Maybe it’s pointless to fight it. They’re slowly killing me. Maybe I’m possessed by a demon. If I can’t even trust my reality then what’s the point in living? If I can trust my reality then why isn’t He fucking doing something to save my family? Pointless suffering part of His grand plan? Let them win. This world belongs to the cruel. I don’t know when I’ll write again. I’m not going to kill myself, but I’m not going to try to save myself either. I don’t give a fuck about anything any more. Bye.
Published by whenmarsmetsaturn
I was born during the Great War between Mars and Saturn. When I was a wee laddie, I had to go wee-wee and landed on the planet Earth. I ate some ice cream that the muses had recommended. The vanilla affected my sense of direction and I haven't been able to find my way to my spaceship ever since. I was stranded on a planet where I didn't belong. To get revenge, I decided to write travesties of literature in order to annoy the muses. View all posts by whenmarsmetsaturn
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Whispers of the Universe 
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