This is not a thought I should publish.

So let’s talk suicide. Have you had the thoughts? I have? Not for real but still. The final escape from The emptiest of feelings into pure emptiness.

Cut you wrist in the direction of the arm under the duvet in the room you grew up in. Bleed to death a night no-one suspects a thing. There is thick oak-floor underneath the bed. I bet it will be stained. Would I regret the decision after a while? Panic. Thrash about, alarm my parents. Go to the hospital. 5th floor, psych-ward. Finally something would change. Maybe to the worst, but at this point. Who cares? ”Anyone but me”, the answer comes immediately

If I can shot rockets then I can shot fascists. I should do something to fight this right-wing menace that’s raping the world.

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