I think since the moment I turned eight, I hated my life.

My mother and father used to tell me that I was born good for nothing, and would therefore never amount to anything respectable or reputable.

I believed them.

Because it’s the truth.

It all ends here…

All this misery.

It’s pathetic, to look into the mirror and realize that that slob of a man staring back at you with wide eyes is yourself.

So God damn pathetic.

Really, God.

What kind of omnipotent being would create us humans, comprised of billions of cells, and trillions of droplets of blood, with nerves and emotions and brains, and we’re so complex. What kind of god would spend all that time on such a thing only for it to amount to nothing?

Nothing.

I was the unneeded link, the excess filling to the perfect pie.

“Let’s just take that one out, he’s a little pointless…perfect.”

Absolutely Mrs. Dunkelmaan.

Good Night.