Friday night

I am burning.

I am fuming.

I am writing with a 2B pencil. I am wasting a sheet of my sketchbook to write on.

I want to cease to exit, yet live for so long.

I want to die tonight, yet I have a to-do list for tomorrow morning.

It is 9 p.m. and I have nothing else planned for the evening. I am feeling a void. I am scared of going back to my empty apartment and surrender to my thoughts.

I am tired. Not physically this time, but mentally.

I haven't eaten anything since noon, and I don't feel hungry.

I haven't had a sip of water since 2 p.m. and I don't care.

I thought it is getting better, but it is not.

I thought I will be compensated, but I am not.

I thought I will trust again. I did not.

My heart is growing colder, and my soul is getting older...