Interlude: Dying

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Every day I still find myself in this fucking capitalist machine called a job, is another day a piece of my soul is grinded into bits.

I am losing myself and I can feel it.

I feel it every morning when I wake up and make myself get up and go to a place that kills me mentally.

I feel it every afternoon when I’m eating lunch with no desire to exist past that moment.

I feel it every evening when I’m in a bus pressed tightly with one loud talking person with body odor.

I feel it in every fake smile I make.

I feel it in every thought I don’t vocalize.

I feel it in every bad joke I let slide.

I feel it in every meeting I attend.

I feel it in every email I send.

I feel it in every second of every single day.

I can’t keep living like this.

In this potential state of existence but not really living.

And I don’t know what to do.

I need the money.

(Oh, I just got the term “selling your soul for money”)

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Please read this and run up the numbers so I can feel an inkling of joy today (the song in it is literally the only thing keeping me going. Has been on repeat for a while).

Sylla's Morning