now i'm stuck in a humanity recycling of empathy, agony and a heavy chest of 28 kilograms that i carry everyday.

a war can absofuckinglutely save me atp.

well guess that happened.

آهای حرومزاده‌ها، من هنوز زنده‌ام.

مجبور شدم کانفینگ بخرم.

دیگه نمی‌شد.

حس معتاد نئشه‌ایی رو دارم که بعد از ۲ماه تَرک، بلاخره دوباره تونسته high بشه.

نمیدونم کی این اوضاع تموم میشه، اما لطفا زودتر تموم شه چون دارم تموم میشم.

maybe we meant to be like this, to feel this way and to try to survive. maybe we had never a chance to live our life the way we wanted.

even if either our lives were written like this or not, i would like to burn it down with my lighter.

it doesn't matter how much i try about it, there's always something in the way.

we're living our lives like prisoners in a big ass prison.

i need to run. idk from what or to where tho. in fact there's so many reasons to run away from them.

happy mother's day to dear mother nature. i can't wait to fucking die and sleep 6ft in your soil.

i'm so low that even all the drinks and drugs and joints of this planet won't make me high anymore.

i need something to feel. like the warmth of blood, the coldness of a corpse, or the smell of a rotten meat.