I am already dead. I died a long time ago. I’m just here for my wife. I dream of death as a great release. But my soul is already beaten down and destroyed. I walk around like a ghost. No dreams or hope, but merely a dispassionate ennui and pain. My own mother was the thing I hate. My father clueless, my brother is a wreck. All my friends are superficial and don’t care, just dancing their little dances. This world is too much for me. I’m in bed now and I feel comfortable here in the dark. Nothing can get me here.