Apocalypse.

I’ve been thinking a lot about life these days. How I feel as though I’m wasting my life, and as though no matter how much I strategize these days, I just can’t seem to put anything into action.

But what really fucks me up is how this feeling of dying isn’t scaring me, I mean I really want it too, maybe that’ll give me a kick start; but nope.

I’m afraid of Hell though, I’m afraid that it actually may exist and that it actually may be living this life all over again. Every happy though filled with so much shit that makes them bitter. How I have to hide every happy thing I have, how I have to beg for attention just to know if someone I care about is okay and healthy let alone happy. I hate how I have to be secretive about the conversations I have that actually make me happy sometimes. I hate how I have to demand some space to just think and leave the constant nagging and continuous talking, texting, NOISE that never stops.

I’m afraid that I live only to be miserable.

I await the apocalypse. Just so I get a chance to take a break just for the minutest of seconds, but I’m also afraid that every word I speak, every letter I type is a lie to myself.

What if I’m just too afraid that I’ve forgotten what it is to be happy, or maybe I’ve never even known.