/lit/ - Literature

I'm afraid that I have perhaps fallen to the dullness of mediocrity and routine. I've grown insensitive and cynic of even my life.
The only thing that keeps me going is the primitive instinct of keep breathing and feeding myself.

But there is an image that lingers in my mind, such idea of what monster will I would become the moment I drop the last remain of "humanity" that I hold... and it terrifies me that such thing would make me transcend to the best "me" that I could ever possibly be.

I hate the idea of being the result of the sick joke that this universe is, am I even free?