I've been talking to myself for hours now ; this is the end of my way, my very last try. My head’s floating over the ruins of my very robotic body. This place’s as dark as the night. I know I’ll never come back to the normality I used to hate before. I have written a story about reality like a secret diary, the shelter I need ; I guess that time has come to shout, Is there anything else I could think about ? I want to get out ! I want to get out from this funeral maze, forever out of this place. I’ve been scratching the wood for hours now, I just can’t go on like this I’m much too tired. I’d rather sleep for a while and have a little rest, time is all I have. Or do I belong to time ? Worms are waiting for the flesh to rot.