If I died, no one will ever benefits from the shit I wrote. This place right here, I laid down my contemplation, a memoir of time that I’ve lost. I can’t believe how much time has passes by. And how little have I change. I fought with a figment of my own self issue and I never won. At some point, I just want a rest. I just want to take a break. A long pause. But, time is no gentleman. Time leave us. And it leave us fast. Like once it got one step further and never look back. And I am still standing here, watching it goes with everything I care most. Hopeless, helpless. And the more i think of it, the closer i am to despondency. I need drugs. Prescribed non prescribed whatever. I need something to make me forget. Something to make me feel again.