If i perish

[Quintilian]

Easy as I came, easy as I went. Existence was brutish a life unspent. What living did I do whilst I lived? I existed, all whilst in my room, a stayed there, lived there and resided within a prison I enjoyed. How much hate does one have to have towards himself to live in such a manner? Truly, one must hate himself much. When I perish, it will be for me all a bad dream, it will be nice to never know a body, to never be guilt tripped into believing that I was never enough for not having achieved certain task. I will never have to worry about legacy, nor will I fear having my body beaten or an animal eating me. I will have been liken to a thought, a lonely thought, a homeless thought, would it not be fair to live perfectly? A perfect nothing is better than an imperfect something.