I hate this. This feeling. This enigma, eating; consuming me.
I need this. This burn. This ache in my side.
I want this. This emotion. This longing, the desire to continue onward.
I can't stand this. This life. This simple, complex existence; this being.
I must have this. This stabbing. This irate situation; breaking me down.
This confusing story. Of life, of death. Of love, of hate. Of us, of them.
I don't care about this. This nothing. This thing of absolute emptiness.
This devil. This demon Tempting me to continue onward.
This sadness. This anger burning me, killing me. Begging me to try.
I forget about this. This ageless fight. This battle with time.
I care for this. This is pain. This sorrow, this nightmare that never ends.
What is this?
For better or worse, this is our condition, our reality, our existence.
This feeling? I hate it? No. I love it, I live for it; live with it. I wouldn't have it any other way.
It is in us all, just as we are all within it.