Death. Just dissolution. Right now. And I would feel pure bliss flowing through my veins. I swear I would. Like reaching the point of no return, after walking the whole life on bare soles, and suddenly break down and give up just when I was about to reach my goal. I long for the bitter taste of death on my tongue, that emerges as painfully spoken empty words, just before taking my last heavy breath.
Death. At least better than waking up in my own shit everyday. At least better than being one of billions of ants working for nothing. At least better than having pleasure on disguising my self. At least better than struggling to get up like a chafer fallen from his throne and lying on his back.
All illusion gone. Left is a helpless, dirty, disgusting existence that is merely consisting of the physical anatomical functions of the body. Numb. I don't want to live as a wreck. No matter if I'm selfish right now. Death. Just dissolution. RIGHT NOW!