Elaborate on the existing facts, but do not attempt to see any difference from the then and now. I came into this world, thus I am but a child, and the universe determines who I am, where I will be, and whatever life I'd have...

Or not have.

Death. Such sweet companion.

Burn me down. Scatter my ashes.

Should it matter?

This breathing excuse. This daylight-torn realism.

It should, but it doesn't.

I don't know why. I don't wanna ask why.

I am alive, though I feel mostly dead.
I am intoxicated, though I feel almost purified.
I am...I am not. I have no idea what I'm talking about.

Welcome to my inexistence.

Be as careless as you wanna be.