I need to do something. Anything. Writing seems like a good idea, but I need to think to do that. I need to think to do anything. That's what I do. It's all I can do at this point, think. Without my brain, I have nothing. No brawn, no athleticism, no likability, no charisma, no purpose, no joy. That seems to have fell in the black hole a while ago, slowly red-shifting into nothingness, as I watch helplessly, with the only way of stopping its slow, crimson fade seeming to be diving into the dark

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