The more you do, the higher chance you’ll make mistake. For a place where only faults will be recognised, where masks are everywhere, it’s pointless to give your best or even more. Life is more than disappointment. Each time I close my eyes I can see all the torments.
Each time I do more than what I’m supposed to do, I feel stupid; I feel disgusted with myself. Not any of the initiatives can provide more satisfactory to belittle my silliness.
Not in this place.
I begin to feel the urge to get away more. I can’t keep conning myself somehow all efforts would worth. For more I think I should just help to contribute to the place that lifeless souls struggle, my heart drifts away further.
Why do I bother about others when I can’t even improve on my own condition? No hero lives a good life, unless fairytales tell you.