Bull--

In life, there is no point to be happy.

No matter how hard you try, no matter what efforts you've put in, life will fuck you up and run you over like a stampede of bulls, horns and hoofs and all.

I know, of course, because I've had it all wash against me, like currents in a tide: they have cripple me now. I am broken bones, and unmoving muscles. I am a body without a breath to stand.

There is simply, no point at all to be happy.

Here, I lie with my head still flat on the mattress, laptop on my stomach, it is 7 in the evening. I only just woke up from a nap that had me skip lunch and the entire daytime away.

Life is a dud. Of no value - crude.

 I do not need it. If I could be blessed the power to give away this life, I'd have lent it at 9. I've had long left this place; I've have already reaped my blood with the poison it longs for.

But as much as my insecurities proceed to demand me away, alas they are also what keeps me.

Though I wonder if I were to take my life, and to write my good byes in a blog post, here - would anyone notice it before its too late?

Would anyone care, or bother?

..

Perhaps it's best I not wonder, for it may urge me more.