I was gliding in the water contained with my own faeces, not that I care. I never care to wash my body, brush my toothless mouth, and if working was described as staring as number and words all day, then I’ve never worked before. I don’t need to since people always smile to me, a harmless beautiful creature; give me foods, water, and shelter. All I need to do is...staying alive. There is no business like “staying alive” business. With boredom as my long-last archenemy, I strive to live my life as the most competent self-entertainer. The view seldom changes and the glass walls around me will still be there until the end of the time, my time. Until the give me decent burial or flush me to the toilet.
The sun is getting older and self-entertaining isn’t my favourite anymore. Old times. My heart wanted me to give up life. Oh, my...life was so damn hard when your heart told you to die, but your instinct forced you to stay alive.
Cheers,
Nidya
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