What’s It Like?

I wonder what it’s like not to hurt.
What’s it like to wake up and be glad that you did instead of being heartbroken that you did?

I don’t want to be here. Life feels like a prison. I’m being punished. Existence is a punishment. I have a life sentence. No possibility of parole. No rock hammer. No poster. Just an endless stretch in Shawshank, getting fucked by Boggs.

What’s it like to be glad you woke up, instead of filled with choking sorrow that you did? What’s it like to blissfully greet another day, to be grateful morning’s come? What kind of sado masochist do you have to be to enjoy this relentless torture?

What’s it like not to long to have someone love you enough to help you die? To help you escape.

What’s it like to be pain free and hopeful and all peachy and rose tinted? What’s it like to have been strong enough that life didn’t break you and make you jaded and cynical?

What’s it like?

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