Dear Kafka, help me. I desperately and indefinitely need your ears because I lose my mind when I think too much. You wrote about how humanity's ruthless progress toward functionality shall be its downfall in Metamorphosis, didn’t you?

Dear Kafka, I feel so weak. I feel like a leech, mooching off of my family and having nothing to show for it. I feel like useless furniture that just exists....

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my tongue is tied

my mouth is sewn shut

my arms in a straitjacket

my eyes gouged out yet, still wanting to blink

to see / i want to see / i have to see / i need to fucking see

with all the blood and flesh of my own mangled around me

i broke my arms out

my bones protruding and bleeding black hot blood

i pierced my mouth open,

my black blood, teeth and flesh flus...

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hey lord, 

you know, im trying

im failing

im spiraling

im lost

i dont know myself

but lord, 

im trying

im trying so fucking hard

is this enough, lord?

i am confused, lord

when will i be able to sleep?

please....

help me

save me from the sins of my mind

and when you do,

please let me rest

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