Translation

 

I have put on so many ways of mode to make myself known in ways that I want to. I feel misunderstood all the time and so much so misunderstood by myself. 

I tire of living because it all ends up the same. I do not find myself enjoying anything at all, and if I do it lasts as if like a second of a yesterday. Grappling at every hook of time, of moods, of chemicals make me a subtle moment.

Guilt maketh me. Guilt maketh me and Traffic jam maketh me. Traffic jam is our death trail. And all that is slow and all that is fast, I grapple and I yearn for but I am never grateful.

I feel nothing. I feel nothing so much. I feel nothing.

But I yearn so much and I want so much that I want nothing because it is all a disappointment. It is all sad, it is all zero. Zero, zero, zero zero. My lights blind me and my scours tell me, I am rotten.

Zero, zero zero. Zero zero zero. Make believe of everything, you misunderstand me, I misunderstand you.

I miss you always,  I love you always. I love you always, I miss you always. I feel for you always. Though I am tired, of myself, the evermore negation of what is and what is of the negation.