اگزیستانسیال

2:29 isn’t it quite the same and isn’t it such a shame? too heavy for the lightness but weightless in the rain, all our words are wasted.

never fails to fail me, never say never. loathing phase, self-inflicted pain. I’d never, oh, I’d never.

🖐🏻

I still have my bones, my flesh and my nervous system. I still feel my hands, my legs and my head on my neck. I'm still here, but more like being stuck. I'm not here really.

how can we be normal about our mental health when life gets bpd by itself?

I didn't want to take the blame, but I did. you can't be the innocent without being the one who fucked the whole deal up.

my whole life is a darkroom. one. big. dark. room.

daily anxiety deep in my chest like a heavy weight that I have to carry, and for what? for a single moment, to see you smile!

since there's no difference between me and a dead human, I wonder why I'm still not in my comfy coffin.

we don't need to stop breathing or getting a cold body or being buried 6ft underground to be called dead, we can still breathe. we can have a warm body and sleep in our beds and be as same as a dead creature.

we don't need to stop breathing or getting a cold body or being buried 6ft underground to be called dead, we can still breathe. we can have a warm body and sleep in our beds and be as same as a dead creature.

when you mourn the living, that's a hard way to live. and so in a way, it's better this way.