Is it bad? Bad that I don’t want to die? I’ve never met anyone who actually, with every fiber of their being, desired death, and it’s not your average birthday wish either. My problem is that I love this world, I love every beautiful and horrible thing about it, I embrace the bloody massacre of thousands as I bathe in the serene of morning fog and crashing waves. I want to walk on this earth forever, feel every piece of grass, alive or dead, crushed down by the soft malevolence of my feet. I want to see everything we’ve created, us humans, created for the temporary ecstasy that ends with death. We die, and our creations are passed on to the next generation, always more careless and incoherent than the predecessors, never able to understand the importance of our creations as they toss them away into the fire.

I want to jump into every ocean, swim every inch of the saltwater eternities which so brilliantly confound us. I want to dance the ballet of infinitely twirling currents, and stay there forever, reclusively watching society’s daytime from below. I want to perch upon the rod-iron of Tarra Park, sit upon the rim of endless delusion as I bare my weight upon pages of thin white sanity for perpetuating amounts of time. I want to caress the unnaturally smooth curves of mirrored monuments, stare at the reflection of what I am trapped inside of, stare at who I’ve become. I want to be free, liberated from the soul-sucking, self-pitying doom of being.

This is candor- long anticipated, and finally free.