Why won’t anyone just let me give up? It has become abundantly clear to me how fully I have given up all hope for any improvement to the sorry state in which my lowly life has apparently taken up permanent residence in. Apathetically flowing along the irrelevant streams of this dismal discourse with destiny, I wait for the few remaining concomitants of this pitiful excuse for existence to finally reach the same conclusion I have, releasing me from the binding chords of the their naive commitment to the mantra of hope, as they accept the reality that I am, indeed, a lost cause.
I cannot be saved.
Instead, under the rectifying intentions of redeeming this defeated deviant, I am carried along, lifelessly comatose and puppeteered by pessimism, as the loved ones I have long disappointed remain the frazzled life support for an empty shell. Were there any remnant of emotion in this void, I suppose I would feel some guilt, someTHING.
