A sedating psychedelic. I always wanted this. Now I have it. It’s good. People and the world haunt me less. I can sleep forever. Nothing matters. Everything turns to dust anyways. As long as you’re happy with the decay. It doesn’t matter.
Yet, it’s over now. That escape. Repulsively sweet, repulsively lazy. I would become unhappy with myself. It needed to end. What comes next will likely lead to more awful writing.