This is my confession, writing is my curse.
In the solitude of my cave, I have seen nothing but shadows.
While my cursor is flickering my imagination is a Sahara.
I weep in misery, thinking silently.
I feel defeated this time; I have fallen in severe depletion.
I have betrayed myself this time and it feels dolefulness.
Even when Nietzsche tells me “Was mich nicht umbringt, macht mich stärker”.
(that which does not kill me, makes me stronger.) I vigorously refuse to believe in it.
I should be ashamed of myself and I am .
Writing is my curse, is my Wall, is the Beginning and the End.
Great God! once ,you have said “Ask and it will be given to you”
Forgive my nihilist manners, I accept my cross.
I put this curse in my purse.
I now see the boon that Nature grants me and I will never be out of tune.
I see that sacrifice is just a ladder that leads the sky.