I'm writing this as a documentation of my somber thoughts, I
suppose. My will to keep on is growing weak, though I remain enthusiastic for
what the future brings. I sometimes wish, and later regret wishing, for madness; for
insanity. Why wish for such things? To bring life into what was once so
interesting, and is now dull and decayed. My constant morose look on life is
making my knees give out and feet feel numb. This suddenly disgusting world
fills me with foremost dissatisfaction. My blissful ignorance has subsequently
been replaced with a morbid look on how life truly is. All that once felt so
close - understanding, hope, smiles - now seems so far out of reach. All I can
hope for now is the excitement of a down spiral. Whether it jumps back up or
continues to descend. Whatever the future brings, I welcome it with open arms. I
will whisper comforting words to the wind for hope of good fortune. Whispers;
however, often go unheard.