Deep within my soul is this immense sadness. A sadness that which I cannot shake off. It seems I shall always carry this melancholy due to circumstance.

We all carry the burden and struggle of circumstance. But I… I cannot withstand this propensity to be whoever I am.

Why should I pretend to be pleasant when deeply insulted? Why do I not break rapport immediately and fuck the people whom which I call ‘friends’.

Somewhere down the line, one ought ask himself how to break circumstances. For me, there seems to be no ‘how’, but an endless list of wherefores. I don’t deserve such a life nor do I desire the expectations expected of me.

The world I believed of during childhood, and perhaps even adolescence, is a lie. Happiness and truth has a heavy price tag. It requires sacrifice and the relinquishing of attachment; attachment towards family and friends.

In the meantime, I am contented to live within this collapsing fairytale of lies. And with hope to die, I shall be crushed by the debris of broken dreams. The pain shall meet its quietus in due course.