I am sick and tired of doing this.
Losing my creativity at the cost of what? The gain for who?
It’s always the others.
I’m sick of this shit.
Sick of it.
Believe it or not I would write lovely things.
Wrote for publications.
The extent of being burned out.
We are not robots.
This life we live is mechanical.
To go faster, to produce faster.
At what cost?
I wish not to be a robot.
Wish not for money.
My identity is worth more than anything you can throw my way.