The worst part of being me
was the suffering that seeped into my soul,
the suffering that made me feel like I was drowning in my own madness,
over all the depraved people,
unable to reconcile with my life.
The personality that made me not know who I was
and the moments that made me unable to live in harmony with myself.
Analyzing everything deeply,
it made me conscious,
and consciousness was killing me from the inside, devouring the particles of my brain.
My brain is tired
and my soul is polluted.
If I didn't think so much, would I be happy?