i run to a deserted wasteland that has nothing in it and i expect to live for a couple of years before succumbing to starvation & thirst. why do i do it in the first place? i don't know, that was a instinctive decision i made when i decided to put glass fragments into my blood veins to be a lesser, dystopian version of myself when i convince myself that throwing myself into medical debt & a weakened state is crucial to my mental state to guarantee survival because i listened to a equally mentally ill person who believed he was a prophet that served as the spaghetti monster's servant and lectured me "those who suffer, become stronger. thus the abused and depraved will eventually become a compartment of a castle; resilient and empowering in their king's wisdom to tell right from wrong".

i was in no state to refute his argument and decided to buy a lifetime's worth of alcohol to be injected into my bloodstream because i believed that being permanently hungover for the rest of my life would allow me to live in such bliss, that even bronies or weeaboos cannot experience within a wet dream. i know that no god exists and so i burned the church's worth of lifespring; to crucify their babies as a offering to the sewer hobos that live just 2 blocks away from my house. my internal skull infrastructure was already beginning to fracture, leaking my rotting brain's yellowish substance from my temple.

i begin to starve and think, in the desert, i have lived for nothing, to be nothing. the eternity i spent living on earth was just a lie to keep myself a specimen for others to look at be horrified at. i couldn't think straight anymore and chased a ford mustang gt500 to escape my misfortune, but since it had a 500 horsepower advantage compared to my legs, it left me to waste in the desert.

my survival instinct forces me to preserve myself, making me feel drowsy. i sleep next to a palm tree in hopes that it will collapse on me.