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I know that this is a sentiment that is hardly original on this cursed Mongolian basket weaving forum, /bant/, but in either case, I do this on a whim. Make fun as much as you wish, send cirnos and apus and all of the autism gifs and le edgy burger gifs that you have. As much as this might be, at best, a spectacle for you, my fellow anons, to enjoy, I lack the capacity to care any longer.
You see, I no longer have the will to live.
It is not that I am suicidal, as I have no inclination of killing myself. Yet, if death were to come, not only would I not cower in fear, but I would relish it, for death would release me from the monotony of my existence. Day in and day out, I wake up, go to work, go to school, and then come back home and mindlessly surf the internet until I pass out in the wake of the night, only to do the same again when the sun rises from the east. My body moves on autopilot, and just like an automaton, I go through the motions of smiling and laughing and engaging in simple pleasantries with the normies in my life. Most, in fact, would hardly guess at my fervent wish, as instead of the zombie-like husk that I am, they see one of their own. They think of me as a sunflower, when in reality, as the sunflowers lean towards our shining star in the blue sky, grasping for its everlasting light, I lean towards the reaper, grasping for the calm void that is nothingness. Much like the hollow men, I too am nothing but straw, waiting for the cleansing fires of the rapture to wash my sins away.
Anyways, I think that I have waxed enough poetics, and weaved enough purple prose for the denizens of this cesspool to chuckle about for sometime to come. This has been your typical, yellow press, signing off.
