by By VenderGreentag
Good evening. Or good morning... I don’t even know anymore. Depends on whether you’re on your third coffee or fourth existential crisis for the day.
So listen...
We live in a worn-out place.
Not just chipped-paint worn out — I mean "feels-like-you’ve-been-through-17 divorces and a failed pyramid scheme" worn out.
Emotions? Burned out.
You happy? No.
You sad? Not really.
You just sit there, blinking into the void like a glitchy Windows XP loading screen.
People? Even worse.
I looked in the mirror the other day and saw a guy who looks like he slept on his bills and woke up to the voice in his head screaming,
“Surprise, you’re still alive.”
Pills everywhere.
Pills to be calm.
Pills to be happy.
Pills to keep you upright long enough to finish your shift, text your boss “Done,” and cry in the bathroom without anyone noticing.
And life? Life’s not something you live anymore.
They push you through it.
Push you in the morning:
— “Wake up, you’ve got work.”
Push you at work:
— “Where’s the progress?”
Push you at home:
— “Talk to me!”
And you’re just standing there like:
— “Bro, just push me into the sewer and let’s wrap this shit up.”
Because let’s be honest…
Life doesn’t end on a stage.
Life doesn’t end in fireworks.
It ends…
… somewhere in the dark, dripping silence of a sewer —
like a dead rat that even the stray cats passed on.
And you know what’s the worst part?
The rat doesn’t pay rent.
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