I bet a lot on the only thing in life, and all I lose is where the things I can't afford to lose come from.

Those who always like to gossip about others in front of me and are interested in others' privacy, I believe that one day, they will unite to talk about me. This has nothing to do with their emotional bias and core position. This is purely their interest and specialty. They are good at taking some condiments to adjust the atmosphere, and they want to be close to others all the way, showing enthusiasm and loyalty, as if only those who don't know what's good or bad will be ungrateful.

I don't want to get into trouble all my life. If trouble comes to me, I will avoid it. I don't want to look wronged, maybe I have a ghost in my heart, maybe I'm lazy, maybe I'm timid. Anyway, I don't like to make an issue of trouble. I was angry, but I put up with it. I don't need to borrow someone to vent my anger for me, and I can't even stand up for others. I'm afraid to associate with people to the point of sharing weal and woe, and I'm afraid to pretend to be United and close because I'm United as one enemy.

The ultimate loneliness is not lethargy, but endless laughter, endless muttering, and being upset in the endless noise of soliloquy.

I want to be clear from now on, not partial. This is in my plan. I know I may run out of gas at any time. I put up with not making this plan all my life, and I said to myself: It's too early, too early. What about now? It's still too early. I've dreamed of this last moment all my life. Before I lose everything, I want to make sure of it, draw a line and work out the total.

Life always borrows from us. Only in death can storks and trees not be strangers.

I don't love those people who praise kindness all day and are bored and dehydrated by virtue. I love sincere naked women, wet and moldy sexy organs, evil and pure organs, and a pungent smell. You know, it is a concept of love full of lewd taste.

I know in my heart that nothing will happen, nothing will change, and nothing will come. This is a non-existent fear, a non-existent horror, and an inanimate anxiety. It is a cry of all my cells in the face of internally divided, scattered and pulverized creatures, and a fear of trivial and insignificant things that hurt my face. This is a fear of violence, which threatens me from the outside.

You and I are experiencing a love that you don't work hard and I don't help.

It rained continuously and mosquitoes were rampant. I didn't say a word to it, as if waiting for an important event-it recovered or died. It also has diarrhea, vomiting, convulsions and bites my finger. If sadness is silent anger, then powerlessness is a kind of exhausted kindness. Its rough and painful limbs scratched delicate skin and fresh flesh, and my patience was bleeding. And rain, starting from the forest, passing through mountains and rivers and lights, watering germs and life, will eventually settle in the sea.

In order to make my life tidy, I cleaned up a lot of people.

I'm sure I was stimulated, not hurt. If you say that stimulation is a kind of harm, I don't think it's appropriate. Injury is meticulous and pure mental corporal punishment, and stimulation is flawed and dirty freak fanaticism. I was so excited that I even came up with such a bad idea of living a decent life.

Because the temperament is too tough and inflexible, it is both stubborn and fragile.

Caring for suspicion and joining in the fun, praise is full of jealousy and innuendo, and comfort is the general term for cynicism and pity. You live in a world full of resentment. If God's education fails, rewards and punishments cease to exist, and human beings crawl everywhere, we will spit on the face of the once praised mountain. Who doesn't blush with shame with a soul? Who can deny that he is a born slut and villain?

If you have the answer in mind, don't bother others to answer it. Some people don't want to see clearly, but there is no better way than to see clearly.

If I don't live alone, if I don't feel lonely, I can't live. I'm not very talkative. I live like no one else is watching. I scoff at people around me who chew love and indulge in happiness. I am not afraid to miss anyone, so I look selfish, indifferent, fanatical, extreme, unlucky and irrelevant.

My tragedy lies in: everything falls by the wayside, and no relationship has a clear conclusion. All actions, once started, are up in the air. All the actions were exhausted prematurely. All the sudden ideas germinate like aphrodisiacs, hairy marijuana and dim poppies in the washing. All enthusiasm for life is like chills caused by fever, which causes a layer of goose bumps in nightmares.

A long silence broke out between us, and the smell of gunpowder and sulfur was suffocating. We may have a fire at any moment and burn two people completely.

I will never understand you when you don't love me. I've put a lot of effort into this. No matter where I go, I will build a great wall of humanity. Later, I left you. On that day, there were ancient mountains, white apes and monks on the stormy national road. Lightning is like blue blood vessels on my eyelids. I seem to bow my head slowly with everything in the heavy rain. I do not love you anymore. At this moment, I finally saw all of you.

I am used to burying all my feelings in my heart, and I am used to treating other people's opinions, care, help and even help as obstacles and troubles. I have formed the habit of never telling others what I'm thinking and never participating in other people's conversations. This habit makes me lack self-confidence and my voice is rigid, which makes me unable to say a few words seriously with others. In the long run, only teasing others and bitter self-mockery are left.

If one day, I don't want to tell you what I did, and I don't want to hear from you how you spent it without me. I will not try to save myself from silence, nor will I force myself to cry, attack or even insult. I'm willing to let us drown quietly in this sweeping silence, and you and I will really be finished.

There are many people who comfort you silently, and too few people stand up and say a word for you.

When your tears run dry, you are either sick or laughing.

My thoughts become capricious because I am not satisfied, and this behavior becomes flattering, angry, grumpy or crying.

You told me a lot, but none of it is what I want to hear. Scratching my boots, maybe that itching pain is also caused by my oversensitivity. You don't look at me, but I don't mind being ugly. Just as you didn't imply that you owe me too much, I don't know what I have done for you. I just want to live an ecstasy-filled life. I am free and distant, unwilling to regret or know anyone, and slowly have glory and brilliance.

They are used to my harmless nonsense, just like ignoring my constant confusion and morbid excitement. I just gained a few pounds or lost a molar in the world, and no one paid attention to me, because I was using "willful" and "surprise" scissors to untie the umbilical cord of suffering connected with them one by one. Gradually, there are only bare bodies and a lot of ridiculous quirks left.

If I can love you less, I will be more beautiful in your heart. Because of this, I won't glare, I won't give birth to unreasonable emotions, and then I will come to apologize to you. This is a spineless defeat. At least, I can be a normal person who doesn't say a word, and I won't spill the beans as soon as I open my mouth, exposing my lack of inner security, so that last night's tears don't refute.

When I first noticed the coldness and darkness in my heart, I was really scared and excited. I peeped at the guilt flowing out and showed nondescript goodwill under the moral beam. I have done many bad things, which proves that I am a good person. I often ridicule those bad habits of waking up naturally, pessimism that does not need to be cultivated, willful indulgence or taboo sex, and countless self-immobile.

I can't escape affectation, but when I try to keep it true, I catch a glimpse of my desire to refuse and welcome, my vanity to escape.

You tickle my desire, and I have to cut off a bloody part of your life to relieve my itching.

Sometimes I want to tidy up my life, live or die directly, and I don't hesitate like now. If I were given a chance to die hopefully, I might not want to, or more honestly, I wouldn't want to at all. I would rather live without saying a word, be weak when there is no wind, and be strong when there is a storm. Wait for old age, wait for natural death, or wait for once and for all.

My inferiority is not compared with others, but because I am born incompetent, lazy and ignorant. So even if I hate myself, it doesn't prevent me from despising my peers.

For a few days, I lived peacefully, without temper or even personality. The desire to express is extremely weak. Sometimes I fall asleep with a thunderstorm in the morning, and sometimes I fall asleep with the lotus root at dusk. In the embarrassing schedule, everything was not arranged, and my body and soul began to be deaf and dumb, killing each other and being rude to each other. In the last daze, in the stalemate of nature protection, only flamingos flew over Bailiantang, which harmed the silence and the sound.

I know it was my indifference that attracted you, but I still scared you away with irresistible enthusiasm.

I will take you to the north or the south. In the morning, my new neighbor lives in my straw hat. Cao Meng and I lost our hair together. Now you have the extensive private freedom of a bachelor; It is fatal for me to live with a fixed female companion and live in narrow and unchanging trivial matters. I miss our oats and beer. In vineyards and beech forests, we have the same pleasure, our faces are basking in the sun, and we chew rose petals at night.

I never know what to do next, so I just stay here, sometimes full of energy and dying most of the time. I can't feel it. I can go out anytime. I'm not that important. Even if you die, it's just a few close relatives crying, a few close relatives crying symbolically, and a few strangers crying in the same boat. They'll say you left. What should I do? They are not crying for me, but for themselves.

Every time I say "I'm fine", I'm saving myself. I won't tell you why, because I don't want to hear you say "why" when I am in pain, and I don't believe you can help me. You ask, I answer, and there is one more bystander. When you are more curious than concerned, you even laugh at me. So don't ask me, I'm not the answer, I'm just a bunch of questions.

I thought there would be no wound if I left here, but I forgot that I was both a blade and meat.

He told me: don't worry, the doctor said it would be fine. I don't know why I'm a little disappointed and sad. He also said, you'll like it here. It's warm and moistens your lungs. After May, the sea is full of the smell of magnolia. In the evening, the mountains are separated from the sun and the moon, and the sound of birds flapping their wings floats in the canyon. What I am worried about is the unknown lurking in comfort. The familiar life I have adapted to has never been kind. I cried this time to release my fear and never cry again.

If you wait to see my jokes, I'll make you laugh to death. You'd better not be so happy and sad.

After I got my first medical record in 2009, I stopped drinking intermittently. Later, because of many physical and mental problems, I listened to the doctor's advice and the expectations of my family, accepted the medicine, relied on the medicine, and gave up when I became addicted. I quit smoking, alcohol, anesthesia, ambition and love, and there will be more in the future. The stressful life has gradually been replaced by the mundane, and there is not even a ghost in the air. What I am laughing at is that nothing in the world is harmless to the body.

I also want to live a different life from now on, at the mercy of others, no matter whether I am stupid or smart, good or bad. All the faces can't make me excited, and all the backs don't have to make me depressed. No one is special. You and I are outside the Duke's House in St. Kyle Square, and thousands of people are neurotic. The stench of long-term insomnia is nothing more than the shade in the puddle and the faint light of the lentil grass lamp. Only the silent air obeys my silent will and lies down to rest.

Leaving because of despair? No. He was in an awkward position and wanted to save face. There are too many hopes and no opportunities to share. I have never been so tired. God neither pities me nor executes me. He just punished me because I had to live. I wandered in the scorching sun, drank passively, and waited anxiously for the last sharpshooter who passed by fate.

Leaving permanently is a continuation of the first decision to leave. When I first came up with this idea, every quarrel, every reconciliation, every kindness to me and every neglect to me since then have pushed me to the road of nobody. I am in the southwest of high temperature, the latitude and longitude are unknown, and my eyes are clear. Beyond the blue sea, snow-capped mountains meander and Noda is a thousand hectares, which is a bad encounter for me. From then on, you don't know if I am alive or dead, and where I am. You can't be forgiven. Because you are normal, you are right. I'm not normal. It's my fault.

Although I miss the past very much, I can't extricate myself, but it still can't stop me from cutting off contact with everything in the past. What I love is the lonely thoughts when I am alone, not the lively, luxurious and controversial interpersonal communication. There is nothing worse than forcing yourself to go through these things.

Because of self-care, so heartless.

Please manage your compassion and don't let it hurt a dignified heart that is dying but still wants to die.

It's been two or three years since I said goodbye for the first time. I don't give up or have nowhere to go. I'm not far from you. Laughing and laughing day and night, you live in 93 provinces of Paris, you are a tower man, and you are a grotesque love song of Dadaism. And I am in the black area, in the Chinese area, I change when I say it, but it is not as good as before. I grow melons and boil beans, cut newspapers and arrange flowers every day. I got tuberculosis and had several high fever. I was naive and unhealthy, and there was no shortage of people.

Love? I don't know. After you, I also said "I love you" to several people. They are my lovers. When they please me, I can't help saying "I love you", but it still can't avoid my dislike of love. I stood at the top of the mountain, Bai Niao plunged into the forest, and the sunset was inlaid with all the greens. Someone has been here since you left, but it's changed now. I am still the same as before, cold, gentle, useless and cruel.

I often think about what kind of person I am, and then I feel that I am not a person. I don't meet the standards set for human beings, if this standard is good, noble and meaningful. However, I reap happiness with immorality, live with cunning games, fight fear with boasting, and live with shame. I have no faith, I lack compassion, I love half-heartedly, I live desperately, and my feelings are not as rich as those of a loyal dog.

I seem to have fallen dead in my dream, surrounded by water, and the suffocating breath makes the fish's eyes round. Wild flowers filled the valley, and many butterflies and I bypassed the dark lintel and crossed the whale-blue tundra to see the bones of mammoths and bighorn deer murdered thousands of years ago. In Eurasia, natural selection is competitive. Rush out of death or survival. When human beings are sent to museums, they are all resurrected in the eyes of God.

I used to have a lot, but then I gave up. I think some things are better without them. What you convinced me to pursue was exactly what I finally got rid of. I'm surprised that I live an incredible life. That kind of life is as big as a pair of shoes and not suitable for every foot. I think I will walk barefoot through the years. No matter how bright the stars are, it is better to look at the moon alone.

Don't ask me anything that has nothing to do with me, and don't ask me anything that has nothing to do with you

Talking about the past, I always express everything by silence, cursing or laughing.

There are no stories in life, just one joke after another. Now, the whole source of my happiness is self-mockery of everything I have suffered. I often can't help laughing, even if I walk alone, send letters and eat, I will laugh like no one else's watching.

Even if you despise that kind of person again, it won't prevent me from becoming that kind of person. When I found out that the core problem of my anxiety was: fear of wasting time. I have decided to spend the rest of my life in a daze. This is not the action of life, but the state of life. I mean, for example, food in a daze, semantics in a daze, love in a daze. ......

Nothing happened to me, and I never experienced anyone. I just passed them. Ironically, I seem to be an ominous person with hidden dangers. All the feelings I pass by are always abandoned in the end. Maybe my blessing can only be used to offset the self-inflicted disaster. I don't know if it's enough Anyway, after so many years and a long time, I live just right.

"I feel that there is no way to go, and I feel in a dilemma. When I indulge myself, life praises me, but once I regain my confidence, it immediately satirizes me. This makes me arrogant and inferior. I laugh at hard-working and brain-dead people, and I despise lazy and smart people. Great wisdom is an empty theory. Do you think there is something wrong with my life? " "No, this is life. Congratulations on finally joining the business. "

I don't envy people who live well, I envy people who want to die.

The rainy night is extremely deep and quiet. White river shallow grass, tungsten wire pub, plain porcelain net delivery, only raindrops, thunder far into the celestial body. It is difficult to tighten the customs in April, so I want to restrain myself and have a birthday. When the whole incident was soaked in plum milk, the milk stinked and turned sour, and it developed into a face without facial features and spoke in a mountainside language. Do you trust me? Leave me my love view. In indifferent disappointment, you will always be charming, smiling and silent.

Even if I can't speak any more, you have no right to speak for me.

I want you. I want your life. I love you, and I will love your body and the dead. Similarly, I also hope that you will kill me, give me a life full of ugliness and give me the most rippling lotus flower with a guilty head.

What I feel is a great discouragement, an unbearable loneliness, a permanent fear of hazy misfortune, a complete distrust of my own strength, a complete lack of desire, and an impossibility of seeking any pastime at will. I keep asking myself: What's the use? What's the use? This is the real melancholy spirit. Baudelaire

I hope that when I die, I have no vital relatives, no lovers, no descendants, no manuscripts or paintings, and I came unprepared and left clean.

Looking forward to a quiet life, across the plains, forests and the Red Sea, the gods woke up from a deep sleep on Mount Olympus and toasted at the foot of the mountain. At dusk, wild swans fly by, and long grass streams tremble. I seem to be a hundred years old, and my hair and teeth are gone. I won't grow any longer. I don't need to wear a garland of animal skins, and a few tearful bull's eyes stare at naked peace and empty peace.

I never thought I would do this to you one day, and I'm sure neither did you. I scoff at your plea, and I will spit out the word "deserved it" when you are being calculated. When you look at me eagerly, will you remember that I looked at you so helplessly? Do you know how hard it is to let go of your self-esteem when you are begging? Pick up your lost self-esteem and don't throw it in front of me like garbage.

I stayed in a room with sandwiches, biscuits, hazelnuts, pine nuts and peanuts. Sit down and light a cigarette. Stretch your nerve skeleton. When you are still here, take off all your clothes and let your pores breathe quietly and smell the fragrance. The free and open day lilies crossed my shame and wrapped my limbs and hair. Lust, kneeling in a gentle and stubborn poem. Surrender to the bad bug, please seal you in the climax, the peak of pleasure, and the road to death.

You will gradually realize the survival dilemma, which is much more dreamy than you think. If you haven't met it, you will probably never believe that your endurance is only enough to finish half the work, let alone that you can't love anything. You will feel that human beings are harmless and harmless, and you will even threaten to suffer more setbacks and experience more failures. It's okay. I used to feel the same way. Like you, I don't believe that one day I will feel cuter than cute.

That's it. Welcome home! Come to me with instructions and kisses from a new lover. Look at me, like an aging still life, dehydrated apple or dying crocodile. How do you feel? You only said that you had just pulled out a decayed tooth from the dentist, implying that I was just dropping by. When I leave, you apologize and bless me. I nodded, because I didn't want to complicate things. When you use formalism to pay your debts, I either agree or shake my head. It's all the same to you.

You don't regret asking me today. I seldom think about it and never regret it. But after meeting you, I really feel a little sorry. I regret those years when I was treated lightly, those years when I was stung and anesthetized, and those years when I was overabundant and overexerted, which prevented me from developing into a full-fledged person. I am disappointed, too. When I am disappointed in your stubbornness, I muddle along. I thought you would be an exception, but I'm not surprised. After all, I have been disappointed hundreds of times.

I used to complain about what I did. I feel lucky now, but it's nothing. To live is to understand afterwards. Although this understanding exists in name only, it is like a scarecrow in a paddy field, and it does not threaten too deadly chaos. All kinds of recidivists, because they are often spoiled and angry when they are young, have gambled a lot in their lives, and all they lose are things they can't afford to lose.

It feels like when life is a little drunk, you gave me another glass of wine and fined me three. You kissed humor seriously in your forgetfulness, and the fishbone pierced your throat. I just don't remember whether I said I would come in the past. Anyway, this trip is very long. The master of time mows the lawn of the four seasons, the flowers of cardamom seed quietly in the wind, the fruit is the seed, and the tea is put in the vegetarian bowl. Experience multiplied by age, collective pessimism is about personal despair. Whether the beauty of the rest of my life is small or sad, that's all.

I am not a strong person, just numb, and not many people can stimulate me. Anything that can activate my senses can destroy me without any vicious wrist.

The separation that day was peaceful, with no special respect. I may not realize that this will be the last time we meet. I got in the car and you came back. From now on, I am a person and you are another person. When you have enough girlfriends to collect love, I am tired of coping with loneliness. In the sunset in Ran Ran, I shed tears, because my life is boring, but I lack interesting self-mockery. Besides, it doesn't make much sense after all.

For me, you are a long river, a distant mountain, remote, mysterious, snorkeling, gentle but unpredictable. At this time, my heart is quiet and cooled warmly by reason, and my sensibility is calm and sad. I think I'm fine. That kind of morbid love self-immolation, leaving white ashes, without pain, but mistreated for the past. I once sang, * * * don't break up when you are alive, just exchange tenderness. But now, the deeper you love, is it the same as no love?

When I decide to be a bad person, I only need to do one thing for the rest of my life-to avoid conscience attacks.

Now, dear, please give me the cane in your hand. Sticking sugar will make lipstick uncomfortable. Aren't you going to kiss it? I'm leaving. I am still alive. It's dead for you, too. Mulberry came into my eyes from your jealousy, and mountain flowers came from Arentho to The Hague. Soon a new woman will take over, blow away my residual heat, inherit my gentleness, or rewrite the rules. Shh! There are still decades in life, only five minutes left with you, and only ten seconds left with silence. Goodbye.

I want to die at the age of twenty, but it has been four years since my ideal death. In the south, I harvested one snake fruit after another and lovers. In the north, I grafted my love on the rat path of the earth, the fragile zone closest to human private parts. I want to live for twenty-four days, twenty-four months and twenty-four years, and give me all the things that I barely remember, that I can't forget, that I used to do, and that I will never do again with the poet's outdated romantic and advanced ideals.

My life has no flesh and blood, only nerves.

How easy it is for people who love to say goodbye! I will never know what changes your departure will bring to me until I say goodbye. And fate left me to the next person, the next person who bumped into me or was waiting for me, the worse or better person.

There are two sentences in my life that make me feel ridiculous. One is "I'm tired" when doing nothing, and the other is "I don't want to live" when I can't die.

Sometimes I don't say it, but it doesn't mean I don't care. I'm just waiting, waiting for this thing to pass completely in my heart, or not completely.

My last hope for humanity is that I can stand by quietly. If you hit someone when he's down, you'd better move a big stone to kill me.

I feel more and more lonely because I know myself better and better. I realized that no one can understand me beyond me. I have nothing to say in my heart. I have nothing to believe and have to do. No one can make me completely unyielding. I used to be lawless and aloof from the world, but now I can't even do it with my closest relatives.

I always say I'm sorry, but I know there will be no forgiveness. I have accumulated more and more contempt and taboo topics. I don't know what I should tell you. I said my life, you may not be interested. Tell me about my emotions. You think it's a whiny moan. I said I missed you, but I couldn't change the same sentence.

As long as you put your heart and soul into it, nothing can be messed up.

I put up with everything, but in the end nothing can keep me.

This is my third day in bed, and I feel that the soil has been buried to my knees. The perseverance of calcium deficiency is as tired as cartilage, and it has become the painted skin of my mother tongue on the landscape of life. Uneven greed turned into a spectre, taking my health as a snack, and my flesh and blood became rice noodles. I'm tired and want to go back. Riding alone on heavy mountains, the tree is full of white Huai trees, the seven-foot Oracle crown, and the bag of starlight smoke is shochu. It is windy all the year round in my hometown.

You asked me what I was sad about, and I was very sad. What I'm afraid of is saying what I'm afraid of.