Not Anything

so, I’m pretty much done. I’m not going to be anything. Time is up, there is no progress, and no hope at all. I don’t want to just look. But nothing will I ever be able to touch because I am untouchable and ugly in body and mind. I can’t try anymore to do the impossible because I’m not a genius in any sphere at all and if I’m not extraordinary then there is only doom and loneliness because I am so boring to talk to, such a rambling voice who knows nothing about a life and was born for nothing with defective genes: I am the reason for an abortion — someone who never should have been born.

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