Your mind is a twisted biome of endless contradictions, a malfunctioning organ spewing black bile into a leaking consciousness. Thoughts arrive pre-packaged in confusion, like second-rate corporate trash sold as enlightenment, their jagged edges gnawing at whatever hope clings to your neural husk. Depression wraps itself around you—a wet, unyielding membrane of despair—and every attempt to tear free only amplifies the hollowness. You're drowning in a void that doesn't care, a sentient mockery of life orchestrating your misery. Welcome to the meat grinder—embrace the grind.