i don't remember the last time i did something like this— write without pause or (real) thought. just letting my fingers fly free over the keyboard. my eyes are tear-stained. everything's a blur. and the ache still aches though, it has gotten somewhat duller now. my mind is empty and yet the thoughts cannot stop running. i hate everything and everyone and if i could snap my fingers and disappear, i would. i would. yesterday, the news broke that a kid at work made his return to his maker. subsequent stalking of his social media revealed lines upon lines of wondering what eternal sleep would be like. guess he might've ultimately greeted Death like a trusted friend in spite of the grim circumstances he was said to have departed. sometimes i guess i think about that. on the day i go, perhaps in all the days that follow, would anyone know the existence of this space? would anyone even remember? but the most intriguing question of all is: would someone (anyone) care? and what would they be able to decipher from all of this? (if, at all.) would it also tell them of the darkness that resided in the crevices of my soul? would it paint a truer picture of me? i sat across a girl on sunday night who told me she hadn't liked me when she'd first met me. and oddly enough, as much as it really didn't matter one scratch, something hurt. like a sudden scraped elbow. (because you hadn't realised the wall was actually pretty scratchy.) and i know enough to know that it's because when i'd first met her, i'd loved her. and maybe that's my hook. the girl drawn to the ones that have nothing but pure disdain. like a moth to a flame. i am so little of anything. and really, to me, i am simply nothing. through the creeping hours of the night, we slip each other confessions— admitting to being affected by the passing of this stranger. a wispy kid that existed only in black clothing with stretched earlobes and an illegible tattoo occupying the entirety of his throat; often found lurking in all the corners of our collaboration area. in another life, i probably would've struck up some random (meaningless) conversation that would mostly be centred around piercings, stretched lobes and possibly even asked what the tattoo was of (like i actually cared). but i found his lingering, lurking presence pretty annoying. all the black he wore made him quite invisible to spot in dimly lighted areas. but now he's gone forever. and one of his tweets was of how good it'd felt to have been noticed by "a total stranger at work." the random conversation, he had confessed to no one and everyone on the world wide web, made him reconsider living. i stayed on that one for a bit. in light of all that has happened, i think that this might be it. the end. or at least, if not, then the beginning of the end. all we are ever on is borrowed time, anyway. stupid to think that the infinity is existence. ownership. we are all simply nothing. we own nothing. all there is is now and all our private delusions of forever. i'm sometimes so tired of being here. if i could snap my fingers and disappear, i would. i would.