think about my things

about things but nothing seems important. This life seems more dead than alive. Work is like a prison and when I’m off work I think about going back to the prison. I do, know, like, want, need nothing. My entire existence evolves around getting money to pay off bills and food and booze and clothes and everything that is required in order to make more money but in the end there is nothing. Getting old and death, yes that will be the end, but what is in between ? Just waiting, walking around blindly stumbling against walls, leaving a few stains of blood here and there and getting a few insignificant scars. Is it my fault that I’m unable to enjoy my existence on this planet? What is wrong with me ? Or is there something wrong with me or is it the others that are crazy ?