How I long to cease to be.
Deep inside the empty sea.
Hints of hollow feelings and deep seeding,
brief sparks of life buried down beneath.
Sentience is a curse known only to the wise.
Let me see the seams burst, lead to her demise.
The sharp pain is unbearable, but also conceivable.
The alternative is nothing, overflowing, overwhelming nothing.
To derive pleasure from pain, to reject the glory.
To become inhuman, is the desired outcome of my story.
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