and when will it Amend?
He shot dead his mother everyday. Father wasn’t much of one ever. Perhaps so, I don’t have a home. I have a tangible roof and four walls but. Strong enough. But no light, or a window even, to feel the truth. To escape. It’s always better to run away. And those who know or might have, know it is not craven to do so. In a way it is intrepid.
One can’t just walk away, you might comment. It isn’t a perfect world now, is it. I maybe fake but I want to. Walk miles away, far enough to make world believe I am dead, or I just vanished.
Leaving, may not be the most opportune, but is the best way. Not because you care but so because you are not well-brought enough. And still brave enough.
I could never decide or opt, in life in general. It always had been duress or a compromise. Most often than not the later. When at times I did, though, only to fail miserably at it.
So he hates life, himself and wants to die. So what. I’d chose to die if I had a gun. There are better ways of dying.
Who cares? No one.
I don’t care. I am not concerned. I hate and I want to be alone. A new world, my order.