Cyclones and suicide notes

Life is a mismanaged cycle of highs and lows, a cyclone of emotions wasted on circumstances and people, both fickle and as uncertain as the winds.

it goes on until it doesn’t, and then it begins again because, depending on what you die for, you aren’t celebrated until after you are done living.

Hope: the driving factor for fools stuck on the high of running an unwinable race, chasing after material possessions only to discover that in the end, it all amounts to nothing once you’re gone… and you will go.

What is life? What is family? What is hope?

I have drunk from the deep fountain of dispair!

Its murky waters have poisoned me… blinded me… deafened me… dulled my senses…

Its poisonous myriads have quenched the thirst for meaning in this life, and awakened me, giving me the long-desired end.

I am awake, therefore, I drink and go to sleep… nevermore to awaken to the mismanaged cycle of highs and lows, and cyclones of emotions wasted on the fickleness of human nature.

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