Roses

I’m starting to feel nervous. Nervous I might miss something. A text message. Or a like. Or a heart, or a retweet or whatever feeds my narcissism. But I’m not missing anything. No-one even tries to contact me. To see if I’m OK. I might have killed myself and the world wouldn’t know. Only S and PT asked me. PT in WhatsApp. Because he was worried I might have blocked him. I would never block him. Not him. But I will unfriend a whole bunch of other people once I go back on there. I will also indicate my relationship status. That might keep some people away, or make them leave. I will be more political too, to piss off racists and bloody liberals who still think work is a virtue. They can all go fuck themselves. Work is not a virtue. It is only for the privileged few. Work is a necessity, to survive, and to stop thinking about death. People stay busy so they don’t think about death. Because death is final and awaits all of us. Even if we try to obliterate it in our minds. We are all dying the minute we’re born.

Withering away.

Like roses.

rose doodle