The only way to lose yourself
is to be alone with your thoughts.
In this modern world, our minds feel empty.
Nothing real to think about,
nothing worth wasting time on.
Boredom is the slowest kind of death,
killing us while we’re still alive.
Our minds search for something real,
but all we find are borrowed thoughts,
echoes of the media, not our own.
To be truly alone—
with nothing, with no one—
is the deepest kind of suffering.
Knowledge surrounds us more than ever,
yet we drown in thoughts not ours.
Welcome to the quiet end.
A death we created,
a suffering we chose.
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