/lit/ - Literature

>>22252940
I'm going to print this post and hang it on my wall.

Today is one of those days in which I wake up feeling so damn bitter I look forward to my suicide.

I've thought a lot about it, and unless life kills me swiftly first I'll put an end to it myself. I want to experience the same euphoric high the guy from "2 arms and 1 head" felt while he was bleeding to death, but I'll do myself one better and I'll be high/drunk as fuck while I die. Still not sure if it will be bleeding in a bathtub, exit bag or pills (speaking of a best case scenario, that is).

Today I feel like killing myself because I am bored, but most of all lazy: I don't want to work. Simple as. I dislike the notion of having to do something to survive. I dislike even more the notion that there's people out there living off of what I do doing a lot less, and I downright hate that this is supposed to be something I take pride in. I'm supposed to feel GRATEFUL that I get to work to survive. How much heroic does it get?

I know that that's how the game is played, sure, but I never asked to be a part of it. I'm just thrown into this fucked up planet and told to work until I die because that's how it works. I'm thrown into this fucking world and I get to become the slave of something so I can pull through another day. That's freedom, I get to choose if religion, ideology, politics or capitalism whisper sweet nothings into my ear while I get fucked in the ass.

The alternative, at least to me, is exercising the absolute greatest freedom we all have and just killing myself. Depriving those fucks up there of this one slave (and the many potential slaves I could produce), that will teach them. They think they got my hands tied because I'll go to hell when I die, or my family is going to cry a lot, or that my life can have a meaningful impact, or there's a lot to live for and you only live once, or whatever the fuck they can come up with at the spot.

But every single day that passes I come an inch closer to just throwing my hands up in the air, walking out of wherever I am, downing a bunch of alcohol until I'm barely able to walk, and throwing myself off of a building I've been eyeing for quite some time now. Head hits pavement and explodes. Time ceases to exist. That's it, I'm out, thanks for nothing.