And so it begins, this open letter to myself. The demons that take comfort in my soul have been set free to wreak havoc in the back of your mind. My intuition is a fucking fable; a feeble attempt at keeping my head on straight, from walking a-stray. Born adverse to the cycle of filth that society holds in high regard. I was built on false hope; son of an absentee guardian. The hand of compassion will forever push me aside. A relentless obsession for endless fucking suffering. There's no doubt in my mind that I wish your heart would stop beating. Put an end to me. Gun to my head; knife in your back.
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