With blood in my hands I write this words... Cuts are so painful... but my physic pain is just a spoon of water of an infinite ocean, my soul pain.
The people don't understand me. This kind of world is not made for me. My ideas are really contradictory against the weight of this monetary SHIT.
The sadness of think that I can work into a slave dungeon breaks my heart. Well, you need the work and you need your money at the end of the month, you need a house with a pool, money to pay a doctor to cure your diseases, and a perfect life with papers in your pockets.
Why the people doesn't understand me when I say: For me, its more wonderful and its a dream to see how I take care of a plant, of a life... than take and fill some papers in a bank?
It has been a long time since I cried. Well, I need to enter in this spider web sometimes.
Misanthropy?
No. Just a lament for that human base error. I discover the wheel to help the people. Ok, well... I'll use your wheel to kill people.
Now it's time to enter into my fears and fight them. I'll follow the people.... Eat shit if you need money. Ok, I'll do it... I hope you have the reason....
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