the saddest boy in town

I never know what happiness is like. I never was. I never am. And maybe never will. Everybody else is living life to the fullest. I don’t even know what I want. The only reason why I’m still alive is nothing more than because I’m not dead yet. I never get to know how it feels to be happy. I’m hurting my already broken soul every day. I just wish to have one human, only one out of +7 billion populations in this planet. Yet that kind of wish seems to be too much to ask for. Already dead inside anyway.

If I stab a knife on my chest right in where the heart located, will I be instantly lifeless, or the pain will last longer than expected? What about jumping out from the top of the cliff, will my head going to be destroyed, or the bones cracked off? Let my body drown in the deep ocean, maybe, my lungs will be full of water, right?

Perfect body? Perfect looks? Perfect job? Perfect couple? Perfect marriage? Perfect house? Perfect children? Perfect ending? Perfect imagination, maybe?

Quarter life crisis is real. Social media toxic is undeniable. You keep comparing, even if you try so hard not to. People uploading the best moments of their lives, achievements, happy stories. For those who don’t, can only watch, and get sad. You try and try to be better, not better from people on the internet, but more like just better than who you were yesterday, sometimes you start feeling good, but then you fall again, the good and the bad is only separated by one simple thought away. you give another try but facing another failure, the cycle goes on and on and on.

Until one day, you finally questioning your very existence, am I only the vessel for the fight between those good thoughts and bad thoughts take place? Can I really not capable of doing nothing than following the good sometimes or doing bad the other time? This is my body, this is my thoughts, but I feel like the third party.