Life is life, it’s beautiful, wonderful, unique and awsomely inspiring to love, life is love. My life is shit.

And though it’s shit I’m still fighting for it, I’m not sitting and waiting for something to happen. Now that’s how my conciousness tells me and I tell it to myself and show to everyone.

Now true thing is all that I do is just to prove something, to someone I fucking hate so much I could incenerate whole world, to someone who incenerated my world from inside. Did it hurt? Yes a fucking lot. Does it still hurt? Yes, it got to a point where it stops hurting that much… and starts hurting much more.

Generally I feel like a wild animal tortured to death by frigid sadistic demon with “loving” angel’s eyes in most hideous ways known not to humanity, waiting, begging for final blow in the middle of dark deep cold swampy woods in winter.

I see no sense in living, no sense in achieving anything. Nothing worth fighting for. Since creature I loved so deeply, no ocean is deep enough to compare, so openly, no heart is open enough to describe, so passionately, no fire is hot enough to feel… has torn me apart bit by bit coldly, carelessly, enjoying it as it was doing so while I was screaming my guts out from pain. Pain no language or words know. Twisting and breaking my limbs, tearing my flesh slowly and poisoning my blood with venom. I begged.. I pleaded..

Now, I do not believe in love. Love is neurochemical instinctive reaction for fucking in darkness and making next generation of helpless humanoids filled with illusions and hallucinations, replicating further on.

I do not believe in life. Life is a forsaken confinement with made-up visions and goals where one has to zombify himself and surrounding ones into believing fantasies, stories, illusions and wishfull lies to prolong this forsaken confinement untill replication.

Beauty is a trend.

Life is amazing and miraculous, evegrowing flow of unimaginable shapes of love… but not for me.

My life is shit.