It’s empty like a peel,
This consciousness I feel.
Are my choices mine,
Or subject to sublime?
So though I kick and thresh in this prison of my flesh,
Would it be a waste of breath to pray for death?
Though I helpless glide,
Lapless as my guide
Shambling towards a fate
When I’ll dissipate.
There’s nothing in me that can change this trajectory.
I’m built just for pain; I’m destined for misery.
My electrons will spin. My atoms? They will collide.
There’s solace I take in knowing I’m not alive.
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