The Horrorscope - Episode 12: The Mad Always Innovate

When we experimented… We learned a bunch about our bodies. A limb can always be re-attached if you don’t let it get infected. After a year, it will start to regrow. It will take you a few years if it’s an arm or a leg. But, if it’s let’s say an internal organ or a toe, for example, they grow in a few months after that year passes. Yet, there was this one professor that wanted to take things too far. I don’t think many people have heard of him. He’s now more of an urban legend than anything. She says as she takes a key out and unlocks a secret drawer. Robert Liston, he’s a pioneer… Well, more of a madman. We don’t really pride being ourselves being related to him. One night, he started doing the rounds. Talking to the patients in the ward. They were all grieving volunteers looking for answers. He’d never really talk to them, which is why they stopped him from going around. He told them that he will show them the answer the next day…

This is the story how I heard it, back then… The next morning they were all closed outside an operating room like that one. There was one naked man in the middle and Dr. Robert Liston was nowhere to be found. I interrupt her again. But why is there a window into the operating room? She looks at me. There are more than one, because we had to film such special cases. I start nodding. Oh, I see… So what was Dr. Robert doing? She smiles angrily at me. Well, he came in with a flamethrower and burned the man alive. They say the smell was horrible. Obviously, the man didn’t die. He recovered. But, that wasn’t the end of it. The next day, he found another volunteer. And, same as last time, he again locked the other doctors out of the operating room. Only to this time cut the top of the skull of the patient that was in the room with a surgical saw. She sighs. Remove the brain by yanking it, holding it up in the air and shouting that the brain is the answer. Yet, the man on the table was still conscious and alive. So, in his brilliant wisdom, seeing that the man was still alive, he threw the brain on the floor and stomped it. Only for the brain to regrow itself in a record sixteen months. We did discover thanks to this that our nervous system along the spine does have some grey matter in it.

I sigh. Okay, but… She clenches her fist. But, that means that if you are tired of your current life and want a restart. You can pluck your brain out and stomp it. Because just like that man, you won’t remember your life, but you’ll curiously develop the same personality. They then, weirdly enough, got on board with what he was doing. So, they started removing both brain and the spinal cord to see what happens. They regrew and got the same result as the brainless man. They tried to burn it by electricity, and failed to do so. They tried to combine some of these methods only for each and everyone of them to fail. We did learn a thing or two, yet, his theory that it is all in the brain was false. So, after a while we gave up. Until a rumor started to surface towards the end of the first year in our community. That in order to kill an immortal, you have to drain their life-source. There is one thing that pulses in us that also pulses in animals which have hearts… And it’s the thing we’ve been trying to figure out for over ten years now. She again looks at Telum, he nods. It’s the only way to kill an immortal…

If you’d like to find the answer and support The Horrorscope to keep these short stories free, you can always like, share, and donate at: https://www.paypal.me/RaulFO

It has been a while...

Burnout, anxiety, stress, the uncertain future and a lot of other things have collided in the past few months. I promised myself this year that I will be better or that at least I’ll try to be happier this year, with a brighter outlook on everything. And you can imagine how poorly that went this year due to a more than few certain things. And as good the good things that happened this year were, and the fortune of not getting ill or sick, it has been difficult to keep writing stories. Especially I Write Sins, when it all felt so bad. I didn’t feel it was appropriate to keep writing a story about an unhappy man in a relationship that dreams of other fulfillment. Well, that and the burnout didn’t help either. But, I have been writing. The fifth book is a beast and writing it is fulfilling, depressing and fun to research. We also have the cover figured out and I can’t wait to share it with you all. You do have a preview in books to the cover. But, there is a lot to still go before it is all ready to share. Yet, I do promise that it will probably ready for 2021. So, please do look forward to the first page of the first 7 chapters.

The book, isn’t the only thing I have been working on though. That announcement soon tab is also something different that I am trying to work on. It has been an idea of mine for three years already and it is getting close to a final product. Which will also be available next year probably in some for or another. And I can’t wait to share it with you all. Speaking of branching out, I also been trying to figure out a way into comic books. And this next year, I’ll try even harder to find my way into that type of a creative outlet. Even if it is through a platform as WebToons. As we the rest, there is a lot of work to be done and things to come in place before even attempting such a thing. But, that doesn’t mean I’m not going to try to find a way to do it through some sort of means. I always loved the artform, whether we are talking the western style or the Japanese one. There is something quite interesting about that means of storytelling and how they manage to do it so well. And the last thing I am looking into doing a bit more is finding a way into writing more games like I did with Questo, which was quite a fun experience.

Now, I explained what happened with I Write Sins…, the book, what I want to branch out to in the future. But, I haven’t quite touched on what will happen with Nobody The Blog and The Pilot Program. Well, they will continue. Starting with 2021 we will have a new short story published on a weekly bases. I can’t wait. These past years have been a treat in trying to improve my storytelling capabilities. Trying to be more meticulous in the writing, with less grammatical mistakes or misspellings and more engrossing stories and characters. To that end, that’s the reason this book is taking so long to write and create. I want it to be better than everything that came before. I want it to be the best I can do right now. And that’s how I want things to be going further, better than what I’ve done to that day. It is to that extent that I can’t wait to share the next year and short story series with you all. When? Every Friday evening, Saturday morning, depending on the timezone you are in. See you all in 2021. Stay safe. And thank you.

You can always support me with a donation at https://www.paypal.me/RaulFO

10 YEARS OF NOBODY THE BLOG

I started this blog 10 years ago to write down my frustrations, to express my emotions, to create an explosion of passion and an outlet for my creation and imagination. My first story written on here was one about someone I loved and our experience together not sleeping and just spending nights doing whatever we could to have fun without any curfew in pure freedom. But as any love when young, it ended, and I grew more and more introspective. With the lack of direction in life, with the abuse of all freedoms and the fun that it came with, my spiral was a sight to behold as life turned into a roller coaster. And my writing on this blog reflected it. But those times too have to come to an end, and they did, when I hit a wall and I had remained with myself and a two year depression after a failed attempt at running a coffee bar.

During this time of depression, I delve deep into anything I could to keep my mind busy. Yet I was in denial, as I was searching for answers. And so I also delve back into writing, but this time on a daily basis on this blog, as I couldn’t find any of the answers I needed or wanted from any reading, deciding to find them on my own. This also spurred my desperate need to find an answer to what I want to be in life, as nothing had satisfied me to that point in time. This grew my passion for writing as I began experimenting by trying different types of stories, subjects and styles. Some garnered views, likes, shares and had eyes on them, others not so much. As time passed, the depression went from seasonal to a two year stint where I had hit my head on the proverbial wall as many times as I could, until I had realized something…

At that point I have been writing short stories, lyrics and poetry for over three years and daily for over two years out of the three. During this period I also tried the first of the short story series called A Misery’s Romance, about a bunch of high school boys and their take on love. Also during this time there were a few segments on the blog, the one that you can also sometimes find on this iteration of NTB is The Rant. The others were about news and virtues. And as I found out that I wanted to become a writer and write more than just short stories, I also wrote a short story series on here, this one named Trapped in Autumn, which as you guessed I turned into my debut book Trapped: Autumn. Another series I wrote during that time was 20 Questions, which you can still read the first chapter of it in The Pilot Program 2019. All this while I started going to college and pursuing becoming an author. As I wanted to find guidance, learn and become a better writer. Yet, sadly, all I found was frustration, closed doors and a lack of enthusiasm and nepotism. And all that can be found in all four Trapped: Seasons books. The more I wrote, the better I got. And the better I got, the more I experimented. And the more people visited and read what I had written. The better I wanted to get and the higher the standers and things I wanted to produce and give to the world.

And with that said, I’ve learned a lot and I thank you for reading my stories, for liking, commenting, sharing them. So let me tell you what is to come from me, a nobody, this year: The Pilot Program Continues, I Write Sins… Not Tragedies is getting sinnier. I am going to release two books this year, one this late spring, one in winter. But, writing this fifth book has been a challenge. As I said, the better I become, the higher the standards I have, which is a bit of a hurdle to overcome when you want to put out quality content. But, it is going to come. The cover is almost ready and the first 14 chapters are done. So we’re over 25% done with writing it. And for the next 10 years, I want to continue to provide amazing free short stories for you to read, to continue to publish interesting books of changing genres and to always try to bring something new to storytelling. And of course, to have you along with me on that journey.

Consider donating: https://www.paypal.me/RaulFO

2019 In Review. (A short story of the 2010s)

Well, we are at the end of the 2010s. And this feels right, somehow. It’s been a wild decade. I started this decade as an absolute naive dumbass, that was making mistake after mistake after mistake. But it was the year I started writing on this blog. And just like any writer or artist, boy, t’was cringe. But, I started this decade in love, and I am ending it in love, which is sweet and gives it a mirroring effect. I also didn’t know what I wanted to do with myself, who I was or what I wanted. This then transitioned into the wildest years of my life, where I ran a coffee bar, together with a friend. Which, obviously failed, due to our lack of experience. Then the two years of pure depression and a sudden realization of what I wanted to do. Followed by determination, attending college, hype due to said college, disappointment, frustration, anger, and spite.

Which brings us all to 2016, when I publish my first book whilst in college. Trapped: Autumn, a bold first step into the publishing world. Six months later, I publish my second book. A sequel named Trapped: Spring. The two a few months later break the top 100. And seeing that being at a literally college, no one cared about someone that actually published books, I dropped out. In 2018, the two books sell copies every single month of the year. While writing Trapped: Summer, I develop panic attacks and a severe general anxiety disorder. I stop writing. After months of focusing on my mental health that year, I restart my passion, by launching my own website and re-writing some of my old content and slowly getting back into writing. After changing day jobs in October, I also manage to quit smoking after almost 10 years. Towards the latter half of the year, I start writing again, finishing with a few new short stories, and announcing the biggest project on this Blog, Attropolis.

But 2018 ends with an idea about the order of the last two books in the Trapped: Seasons series. Thus I start writing a new book, Trapped: Winter. So, 2019 starts with me publishing Trapped: Winter in January. A new fantastic chapter in the series. But due to burnout, panic attacks and anxiety, my efforts to market it or sell it are zero. The next few months, I re-write Trapped: Summer from zero and that first summer day I publish it. But again, due to severe stress, anxiety and burnout, my marketing and selling efforts are close to zero. Yet, I kept writing, as people were reading the blog. Whether they were keeping up with my first 52 week story on this blog, Attropolis. Or they were engaged into The Pilot Program and those short stories. With a few thousand people visiting the website this year. This October I also had the chance to write an interactive story for an app named Questo for my hometown. And seeing over 800 people gather at once place to play an interactive game in the real life, was simply awe inspiring and humbling. In 2019 I also managed to rectify some of my biggest regrets and mistakes that I had made at the beginning of this decade. I also started following my dream job as a full time job, as now I am writing full time and not sacrificing anything for it. Which is rather stressful. This year, I also started writing for the fifth book. With almost a hundred pages written and edited, together with the cover of it being almost done. Here are some impressive numbers:

Story of a Game in 2019: 1 (Questo App)

Books Published in 2019: 2 (Trapped: Winter, Trapped: Summer)

Short Stories Published in 2019: 62 - 52 (Attropolis) + 8 (The Pilot Program) + 2 (Rants) (That’s 1.19 short stories per week)

Total Pages Written in 2019: 815

Words Written in 2019: 275.000

Characters Written in 2019: 1.3 Million (It’s just weird to think about this one, that’s why I am including it)

What’s to come in 2020?

Well, another at least 2 books, another 52 weeks of short stories, another season of The Pilot Program. And much more. Believe me, I am just starting.

Consider donating: https://www.paypal.me/RaulFO

Attropolis XL

Eyes red, heavy and tired. The Giant couldn’t sleep well last night. Nightmares, anxiousness, stress and all the uneasiness was fueling his unrest. The heavy burden of an end that was to come, the responsibilities of leading men into a doomed battle against an opponent with unlimited resources was haunting him before it all even started. The morning cold dew that had set in Creetus was giving the city a shine to admire. The song of the roosters and the rhythm of the waves as they were hitting the shore was the song of the Creetin people. But for The Giant it was now just a somber song foretelling of the near future. Thought after thought after thought running through his head. Replay after replay after replay of a thing that has not happened yet, was in his mind. Strategy, strategy and even more strategy, he was thinking about. So much so, that exhausted, he fell asleep.

Swords clashing, sounds of metal blades turning dull. The Giant screaming and overpowering a soldier as he sticks his sword into the soldier’s neck. The blood gushing couldn’t bother him as he was surrounded in a sea of men willing to kill him and survive. Another swing of a sword from the right, The Giant barely unhinges his sword from the corpse to deflect the enemy’s attack. With a quick swing right under the helmet, his sword gets stuck in the neck of the soldier that attacked him. The blood and mud had turned his blade into an ax-like weapon. Without room to breathe another soldiers launches at him, sword first. The Giant kicks him and falls on his back with the soldier he had his sword stuck in, crushing his throat and killing him. And another soldiers attacks him while he’s on the ground. The Giant tackles him, sword flying out of the enemy’s hand. While punching the soldier, a sword pierces his chest, he turns around only to see his brother.

He jumps up all in cold sweats, hyperventilating, red in face, shivering. A soldier enters his chambers telling him that a Roman messenger had arrived. He gets up and goes to meet with the messenger. To the keep of Creetus. Surrender peacefully. Give me the one in charge and we will show mercy, as I the one true Caesar Augustus am a merciful and peaceful one. These are my terms, if not obeyed, I will come for your heads. Everyone looked puzzled, The Giant with veins showing on his hands, fists curled and ready to strike, smiles to the messenger and says to him… I know ye are the messenger. So I ain’t going to harm ya. But I have a question, if ya don’t mind. The messenger nods to accept his question. You mind telling me if the Caesar is really here? And if he is, does he have by his side a big burly man? The messenger nods. And The Giant smiles and tells him… Well, this is my message then. Tell that Caesar that for a god he seems a mere delusional counselor. And to dear brother Olanus that Anus sends his regards. Thus the messenger was sent on his merry way back.

And then…

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Trapped: Summer Official Release

Welcome everyone, nice to have you here today. No, this isn’t a livestream, nor is it a video or a live presentation, it’s just a post this time. I’ve been busy, writing, content creating, learning, exciting stuff. We’re finally officially here, Trapped: Summer launch day, I am so happy to be finally done with this book, with this series, and especially with Summer. This book drove me into a severe depression that was followed by panic attacks and anxiety. Things that I have yet to fully recover from.

Thinking about this book, I would really just want to cry and cry and cry. Because it is finally done and it feels like a curse has been lifted. Though, I still feel trapped, somehow the chains feel less heavy now than when I first started writing this series. And what a journey it has been, I’ve learned a lot and improved as a writer and this can be seen through the second editions of Autumn and Spring and then through Winter and now Summer. I am proud of what I achieved here, and I am happy that I got to write this series, it really meant a lot to me.

When I first started writing this forth book, I thought that writing the story I always wanted to write in some sense, would be fitting, especially to end it on another personal note, since it started with an autobiographical story of mine, felt fitting to end it on a similar note. Yet here is the thing that got tricky… When you go into a larger period of your personal life, especially when it deals with traumatic events. Sometimes you don’t recognize the amount of regrets or mistakes you made, until you do something like this and dive deep into what you remember.

So when I started writing Trapped: Summer all these things came back up, I thought it would be cathartic, going through such an experience. Yet I realized that I wanted to tell some people things I didn’t have the guts to tell them the first time, at the right time. The more I thought about this and the more I wrote the book, the deeper I had to dig, and the deeper I had to dig, the more questions I had about my own self and my decisions and thought processes. The realization of certain things, broke me.

When I came up with the ideas for Winter and Summer, the process was more complicated and I explained it when I launched Winter. But this whole idea of walking into your own past, is terrifying now to me, and I really can’t wait for you all to read this book, to see, to ask and to feel what I felt in some capacity writing Trapped: Summer. That’s all I can really say about the story of how Trapped: Summer was written, how it became and what it meant to me.

Hope you all enjoy it,

Raul F. O.

You can buy Trapped: Summer here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07SRT48XL

New Book Announcement

Summer, what a beauty of a season. Short warm nights, with lovely winds that feel like an embrace. Light that feels you with joy and heat that smothers you with its hotness. And this is the last of them, the last season in the Trapped: Seasons saga. The forth book in three years, another one, but this is bigger, and just so much more. You have no idea how much joy is in my heart announcing this book and finally putting it out there in the world for everyone. This series has been a certain something to me. While these are my first steps into literature, they’re also something very special, something very traumatic. And I think that’s why there’s a certain happiness with the release of Trapped: Summer, honestly.

Trapped: Summer picks up not much later after Trapped: Winter ends, with Richard and Al still loitering around, chasing a mad dream of revenge whilst running away from something. And somewhere else, Vile, a 29 year old man, struggling with his current relationship and career, finds himself walking 11 years into his own past. That’s the synopsis in a few sentences. This last chapter too, is autobiographical fiction, being based on some of what I remember to be the most crucial parts in my past relationships. Or perhaps the most traumatic ones, what stuck with me through the years.

Trapped: Summer is the longest book and project I have ever worked on. Through a grueling process that took over a year, it is definitely the biggest of all four books. The sheer immense amount of work that went into this, from re-writings to restructuring and reworking the book in such a way that it brings an epic finale to this wonderful series, it’s all been absolutely a terrifying work. But I am proud to present to you Trapped: Summer, the end of an epic four years of learning, and hard work.

You can pre-order the book here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07SRT48XL

Thank you and see you soon.

Trapped: Winter - An excerpt about things

Maybe a disruption helps from time to time from the average days of the mundane, the ordinary and the plain.

It might get your brain rattled, shaken for something interesting to find or think.

Or just simply distracted from all one wants to avoid… Isn’t that right?

Of course it is, nothing works better than distractions. Or changes for the sake of just changing anything, so one can be busy, have an excuse to procrastinate on the things that really matter. Well, that’s if you choose to make them matter.

Otherwise it’s pointless. Isn’t it? To choose anything or have any sort of say or need for freedom of choice… When you don’t want to choose or do anything, really.

But then again, so is trying to find your purpose in life and starting to do something with what you have been gifted.

There are simpler ways to deal with that… Just chuck the responsibility on some entity and say it’s in their will. Whether it’s Karma or whatever god you can come up with… And you’re have no more responsibility to be or do anything, because you know you already have your place reserved and you’ll be forgiven once you pass onto the next life, whatever for it may be, if there is one.

So, if it’s in his will, why should one have the choice to choose what they do with their life? If it’s in his will… Your life doesn’t belong to you, does it? It’s either his or yours, it can’t be both.

Not that it really matters, because when it comes down to it all, there’s nothing really that matters, if you don’t want it to matter. Is there?

No, not by default, only by designation…

Just like choosing who we are with.

Choosing is used loosely in this context, isn’t it?

To choose means you knew all options and chose the best one for you. Yet if you do not know yourself, if you do not know what you want… If you don’t have all options… What exactly are you choosing?

Whatever is left… And you’re happy with that, aren’t you? You’re happy with what you’re getting and nothing else. Isn’t that right?

That’s not choosing, is it? When you’re forced by circumstance to choose between bad and bad-ish, between okay and okay-ish. To have to choose something that is not up to your standards…

Or…

Or worse… Choose something that doesn’t even satisfy you after a while. Something that is becoming a nagging thing you can’t escape from, but you’re not willing to risk it, because it’s better with the lesser evil than alone, or worse… With someone that is worst that she is…

Things, they’re all things that are here and there and everywhere…

So you settle… You aren’t willing to go for better, because you might never get the better, since the better already found the better of you in someone else. So, now you sulk at the thought… A regret for no reason, as it didn’t happen, yet, you’re not willing to risk it. To get out of this box of misery you live in. But nor can you tell all this to the person you are, because you just might hurt their feelings. You might just insult them unwillingly, about a truth we all know, yet don’t we don’t speak of. When we have the tools to find those that we want or need, we shut our mouths and close ourselves off, because trying to find those we want or need, might end up in disappointment. So we settle, for worse, never for better, always for worse.

Always for worse than you can do, I can do, anyone can do. Because there’s nothing else that matters, as long as you don’t die alone, suffering and crying.

Right? Wasting away, what a self-inflicted tragedy that no one will mourn. Because no one should mourn someone like that, a monster that love its own misery to the extent you do. And then you wonder why no one wants you, when you can’t even love the thing you are.

Things, that’s all we are, things that pass. Everything is a thing of a thing of a thing. And no one can change that, no one… Because you’re either no one thing or some thing that does a thing that has its thing of a purpose that helps things.

And everyone loves a good thing, don’t they?

So I heard.

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An Artist's Manifesto

Hi, I honestly didn’t think I would do this… But here I am.

What do you think when you hear the word artist? Probably a musician, a painter, photographer, dancer… More in the audio-visual department I suppose. Why? Looking the question what type of artists there are you get a long list: “Some different types of art are animation, architecture, assemblage, calligraphy, ceramics, computer, Christian or religious, conceptual, artistic design, drawing, folk, graffiti, graphic, illuminated manuscript, illustration, mosaic, painting, performance, photography, sculpture, stained glass, tapestry, and video.” This is just to kind of give you an idea of why I am talking about this. It bothers me, I don’t like this… I really don’t. Each of those mentioned above have an industry attached to their name, this will make sense a bit later, yet, they are still considered art. The same goes for movies, right? Movies are mainstream, making billions upon billions of dollars, they are also art, more some than others, and the people involved in them are artists, right? Here’s a tweet that kind of tipped the scales in my decision to write this manifesto.:

https://twitter.com/Brandonwoelfel/status/1082087400099274754

Now… My question is as follows, when did writers/authors fall out of this category of artists? Why is writing not an art? Why is the writer not an artists? Are we taking books for granted? Are we taking writers for granted? Let me walk you through this a bit. There were multiple strikes by the screenwriter’s guild, with another one just barely avoided this past few years. My question is why? How can those that put the skeleton of a project together be treated in such a way that even to this day they are underpaid and overworked? Behind these masterpieces and these countless hours of entertainment you get every single day. From the writers in a TV station behind a show you’re watching cause you have nothing better to do, those that writer for YouTube channels, to writers that rip your heart out with some of the best TV/Movies/plays out there… To those that writer short stories and finally those that write books, the authors. Which 98% of them couldn’t live on the money they make from their sales books, because they the house they signed with ripped them off, scammed them, or simply wouldn’t pay them or tricked them into a horrible deal. To those that self-published and don’t usually get a chance. But all these people write and create some of your favorite stories… Those that are either talented or worked their asses off to become the wordsmiths they are in order to blow your mind. Those people that can create whole worlds that have endless interpretations, those people aren’t worth being called artists? How can people deny the fact that there’s an art in discourse, in writing, creating, thinking, imagining and mustering the power of putting all those feelings and thoughts into words isn’t an art and that writers aren’t artists themselves? Writing is as much a visual art as anything else. But we never really do consider them artists, do we? They are their own breed… Either amateurs or intellectuals… But never the artist… We have to change that. It’s unacceptable. We have sites that promote artistry but leave out writers and writings, poetry and plays. We auction paintings and photos, yet no one is auctioning for books. Authors have to sell their books for pennies or a dime, when we ask for 12-15 dollars a book, we look at the author like he is a fucking madman, because he is not well known, we don’t think of the hours put behind that work, the people that contributed to it, like an editor, proofreader, beta-readers, printing, publishing, those that designed the covers or paintings withing the book itself. Authors have to sacrifice 80 to 90% of the “income” from a single book, in order to pay others first, before getting anything for all that work. Playwrights spend countless days writing pieces, and don’t get paid until the play really becomes profitable or maybe never. Yet we don’t take any of that into consideration, because they’re not artists, they’re writers, they’re intellectuals or another species… And that their industry is full of snobs and if they’re intellectuals, they'‘re smart enough to find a way to make money (See? Told you it would make sense later). Unless you’re stupid lucky or dead, literature doesn’t really pay, neither in respect nor monetary. If you really want to become a successful writer, you must be a brilliant marketer and seller first, something no one really tells you. There are so many stories of author being rejected 20-40-100 times on their brilliant works or being accepted when they’re old and jaded, and have developed a mental illness that it becomes depressing, not really a success story.

One last thought… If the boundary delimition between something that is art and something that is not is the same across painters, photographers, musicians and writers, then writer and their writing is an art too. You can’t refer to photographers as artists and as writers as non-artists, because the only difference is the “value” and “importance” their work has. The medium is very much irrelevant.

Writers are artists and I want to push that forward, because there is no real argument against writers and their works not being seen as art. So let’s start doing that from now on. Thank you.

Consider donating: https://www.paypal.me/RaulFO

Trapped: Winter - Another Excerpt about people.

There’s a reason, it must be. When someone leaves, disappears, lies, goes away for no apparent reason.

There must be a reason behind this lack of crimson. When someone leaves nothing remains to be. They’re gone, no reason to look, no reason to exist.

Thought the temptation is hard to resist. When there’s a reason to look for someone.

Yet we go on like there was once no one. But where’s the sense if there’s a reason, it should make sense…

When you save a soul, you sacrifice another… An eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth… From two people for two people, yet no truth.

No one’s blind, but all are hurt, no one’s whole, they all are gone.

What is tougher but to suffer? To choose when, why or for whom to do it.

Does that make any sense?

We choose to choose when to suffer and the reason behind it all. When we could end it all…

Suffering, pain, disappointment, and all…

I wish… I wish I could, I wish I would…

But I care, too much, too little, sometimes I don’t even know what I am feeling.

Everything gets so confusing, all I know is that I can end it all…

Turning a blind eye, can do miracles…

Simply feigning ignorance, staying out of it all, it’s a blessing not a curse. Knowing that all those voices are dying in a void, because there’s no one there to give a helping hand… Echoing the same thing over and over again to no avail…

Pointless, wonderful and pointless.

No one really cares, because this way everyone has a purpose, everyone gets to have their lie.

If you take it all away… What’s there left for them to do? Put some actual effort into what they… Think? Do? Say?

This way they can drag us down with them, can’t they? Cruel, fowl beats… No cure for you… I’m taking you to hell with me, if I have to have no place or purpose give in this world, thou shalt not live in it either.

Letting yourself rot in a hole, due to your pride… Keeping suffering alive, because you can’t fathom reality… They, they are the real monsters when they stand in front of greatness.

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