In a place where only the strong live and the weak die, what more can a mere being such as I do? If it's only a matter of survival, then what's the sense of living when you're suffering?
I didn't choose to be born in this world. My parents left me long before I know of them. Why did mother bring me to life when she eventually died by doing so? And where did father go when I was left alone with no one to take care of me but only him? Why did they leave if they won't be with me?
They actually don't want me - that's the sole reason and the answer why I'm left behind, alone in the cruel crowd where I'm lost and will never be found.
This world's a haze. It consumes you to corruption that you'll be unable to return to sanity. I guess that's what happens when you let yourself indulge in its pleasure and waste your life away thinking there is no other way to end the pain.
And just because the pain subsides doesn't mean it's completely gone - it deteriorates and later becomes a curse for a whole lifetime.
What more could I do when it's already too late? Perhaps I shall await my death to sentence me for eternity.
That's what I thought until for some time I realized I should go . . . .
It's gonna be now or never.