After many years of thought,
I reached a conclusion.

My life has no meaning.

I have no reason for my existence,
No idea what to do with it.

But at least I'm not lying to myself.

The world full of distractions,
Hiding the fact that death inches ever closer

With every move we make.

Some might find meaning in helping others,
But you can help others if you can't help yourself.

Maybe I should die.

That's the point of it all, isn't it?
To suffer?

Everything dies out, eventually.

Even the universe,
The never-ending flow of time.

The only reason to live is to suffer.

And everything in between that
Is boring.