I wake up in the morning without a thing to say.
I am not happy, nor am I sad.
I am a victim of being average.
What I believe is not important.
Everything is synical.
Speech is filled with bland stories of yesterday, today and tomorrow.
I accept friendship is on a hollowed ground and love is on a need to have basis.
This life is so fragile.
It sickens me that everyday I grow more resentful of how much I hate being right all the time.