This is a day in solitude. You would think it is a great thing. Someone whispered somewhere I take life too seriously. All I want to do right now is to eat a chocolate muffin that is not mine and that is set over the kitchen table. Very serious issue. Oh, and I also want to die, but since death is not a thing to be found in the supermarket (or else I would love to pick it up from the shelves -- How I want death today? Frozen or fried?) I am looking for it in people I meet. Everyone has a mark of death on themselves. Everytime I get too close to see it, I die a little too. Everytime someone touches me, I feel the cold of death. But I know, it's only cold because this body is so warm and it wants so much; once life has vanished away, death will be such a nice place to be, so cozy, so comfy, just like a room entirely painted black, when you really feel like sleeping and there are no sounds outside. A perfect match, because you are not hungry, you do not need to pee and you do not need to see or speak to anyone. Oh, and you don't have all the demands of the games of conscience brought by dreams, you can just escape into infinity. You don't have to love anyone anymore, not even need to face the demand of loving yourself. If I could sell death, I would be a very successful person.
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