This...

Where are you right now?
Behind a desk, sitting in front of a screen?
Why are you there? Do you really enjoy this?
Is it what your dreams are made of?

I remember my younger days
running wild, free, feeling the wind on my face
playing with my friends, alone or away
Enjoying every minute, doing whatever I felt like to
Together, alone, I didn't care

What were your goals as a child?
Did you aim to save the world?
Everlasting wishes to know the world
And yet here you are, sitting by yourself, pretending to know the world around the web

Was it this what you wanted to do?
Isi this the life you fighted for?
Your dreams were made of this?
To spend the rest of your life dying in front of this?

This,
please,
it,
resist,
persist,
desist,
sick,
fist,
insist,
persist,
list...


I feel like puking
everything about this disgusts me
living to please others that only wish you ill
pretending to be happy around those
Those you secretly wish they die, you wish to kill

False morale, I want everyone to be joyfull and live.
Pure bullshit, you feel less sad when someone around you cries in despair
Living for others, enjoying their failures
You're a fucking parasite, and oddly enough, you feel proud about it

Rest in peace, never you will
Because others died before you did,
because others lived, more than you did
You selfish prick are never satisfied and never will