I feel sick, so sick of myself.
I don't exist: calloused layers of shell.
This world is sick. War is more real than Hell.
Does good love exist? Is it more real than Death?
What will you love when nothing is left?
The soil is poisoned. Seeds freed from cycles.
Purge odious life.
Tears salt the Earth from true peace disciples.
No pain. No struggle. No strife.
Behind the mask there is nothing.
Behind my eyes there is nothing.
Before my eyes there is nothing.
Embracing void. Immortality.
Cannot be destroyed. Empty.
Embrace the truth.
Tranquility.
I quit. I quit. I quit pretending.
Pretending I am not everything. At last,
I find annihilation
in you.