Life
                      
What even is life? Apart from the obvious suffering and torture of it, really life is spite.
It is pausing in the middle of the pedestrian crossing to affirm that one exists.
The pauses, the not-doing-what-you're-supposed-to-do is what life really is.
Clinging on to some ledge before your knuckles give way and you plunge down to your end.
Jumping out of the van before the prison guards eventually recapture you and deliver you to miserable fate.
Life is spite. It is defying the blatantly obvious injustice and crulety.
The great misfortune of being born in the first place.
It is alcohol, coffee, other drugs.
It is doing something you aren't meant to do (but not getting away with it.
Getting away with things isn't life. That is death. That is violent falsehood).
Is sex life? No. Life is wanting sex but not getting it. Feeling the futility of things is life.
The absurdity of wasting an afternoon on something which was ultimately pointless is life.