I used to think I have all the time in the world, one procrastination after another. I suppose only when you've wasted all the time for naught do you realise how little chance there is you have at life. I fell like falling in a waterfall frantically trying to grab something along the way to justify contentment until the moment my skull inevitably clash with the rocks below. What is it that I am supposed to grab?

I am but a fleeting consciousness in a decomposing husk, a constantly deteriorating body and mind. With each morning desperately chasing for... "something"... a reason? a destination? only to be overwhelmed by it all and give up for another day wasted, another unfulfilling night. The next day comes, with less time in my possession. The neuron connections in my brain slightly less established than the day before, the splicing of cells in my body slightly less accurate until eventually entropy wins. It always does.

But the sad thing is that, even given unlimited time... would I still choose to be here? 

How do I cope with this feeling? How do I stop wasting my life? or maybe deep down I want to waste it all and just be done with it if not for the feeling of guilt and the expectation that life should somewhat be meaningful. 

I am tired.