my pleasure

the thing about prose and poetry is that i only get the chance to do it whenever i feel sad, empty, or lost. what if i am in glee? what if i am inspired? what if i am far from being sad? i couldn’t just force myself to write. right now i am writing because i am feeling lost and empty. what if i finally found the light? what if i found it easier than i expected? is it a bitter goodbye?

i am a human and i hate to be sad. but if being sad is the only way to make myself write then i will gladly volunteer to be obliterated. it is my pleasure to be destroyed. again and again and again. . .