Why are you unhappy?

Tik-Tak, time will stop and in an instant so, I walk drunk as if on threads.Close shadow of skewed buildings. And I don’t know how it happened, but the world will not become a good one from now on. Every day you are met by the same picture. Black sky with red clouds presses from above, like a low ceiling. The bloody waves of the World Ocean wash the desert sands of the once popular beaches. The smell of rotting flesh of dead animals and the smell of burning black grass has long become commonplace, but it is still frantically twitching in his nose. You are walking in the wrong direction past the dead bodies of your friends once hung in trees. How many years wasted! From year to year you saved them from death, but now nobody will give you smiles. The horror hung on their faces forever. The quiet sound of someone’s fast-running feet barely touched your sensitive ears. It seems that all is not lost, someone was able to survive in this world full of chaos and devastation, suffering and death. This little light of hope makes your lips stretch out in a sincere, albeit painful smile. You are in a hurry to meet him, but you are afraid to scare him away, so you are hiding in the shadows, from where only your hopeful eyes are visible. Again this feeling! Again the head breaks into small pieces from unbearable pain in the temples! You want to break the skull box against the sharp stones of the city ruins in order to aerate the brain and allow it to cool a little. Tears flowed from your burning eyes, they scald your cheeks with boiling water. From the ringing in your ears, it is difficult for you to remain calm, you dig your fingers into the petrified land and squeeze the bared jaws with force, but this does not help. In the hand of brandy, in his hand the whole meaning of life, I wanted a fire — now cooled, it seemsAnd creativity is rotten, and I prokhaval this Mordor, On imageboards I produce my fucking art like Andy Warhol. Your mind falls asleep, it is covered with a fiery web of madness. Without realizing it, you tear up your torn vocal cords in a desperate cry, like the roar of a mad beast. As in a dream, in a nightmare, you take off the ground and rush towards to someone who still keeps a spark of hope. Stored. You flew to an old friend, but you hugged him already breathless corpse. Cold blood is flowing from the carotid artery, and you are desperately trying to lick this wound. You understand that it can not be saved, but his blood is like a drug. You put a bloodless body on the ground. Still not controlling yourself, you tear it into pieces and hang it on the nearest tree. This is your style. Your creativity. Your insanity. My jump to the grave from the hill, There is one of the bitter epitaphsAnd we all managed to spoil, And my tile remembers how I swallowed for the first time for a hundred, Bleval on the floor and how I called it all the art later. You remember your past. These were wonderful days. You and your friends were happy, you solved any problem together, you were not spilled. But once you ran into a problem that you decided to keep secret… This was the end for a good story. Fear is a palette, death is a brush. Killing is also an art. You are an artist, you are a creator… You are God! This is the best that was created earlier, you created your own masterpiece. The crowd demanded spectacles, the crowd asked for blood… Well, the crowd got what they wanted… However, there is no one to appreciate your work. You’re sick of her. You just wanted to try to break the system, you did it… So why are you so unhappy, Sonic. EXE?