I sometimes wonder why do I ever bother to wake up in the morning. It seems so pointless and idiotic, wake up to waste another day when there’s dreams waiting where I’m someone special. People will say I’m also special when I’m up, but I have a sneaking suspicion they do that to please me while they’re close, and even if they are right, I can’t help but wonder what good did that ever do me. Not much, when I look back on it.
Happiness is an illusion. But there’s still a lot of people I have to kill.
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