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My possible epitaph

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What's the use?


Right! There is none!


Each day, the days only get worse. It's like in office space; each day that passes by is the worst day of my life. Even after applying for 8 places a week, no job. Even after playing guitar for years, no band. I'm sick. I'm a useless s.o.s. The gods don't love me. They've forced me to a life I don't want to live for no benifit for no reason for no purpose. Life is the joke that I don't laugh at. Money is our god. Money rules everything around us and we aren't even conscious of it. Suicide. The only cure, but a cure I can't stomach. The unconscious acts as if putting up with the sewage of living as if it's a "good" thing for me. I hate living. It's not a good thing at all. It's something I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy, or even a bumble bee. We are all children of god, but which god?


Hiding behind a plastic Jesus in a plastic world of waste and wonder.

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