You wouldn’t want to be me. My friends are gone, but I’m still laying here. They are the people who have put me in this place.
I’m laying here and am watching the darkness. The air is old and I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to breathe soon.
I’m only thinking about why I’m here. How? Who shoveled the first dirt? I thought this should have been a very quick experiment. I believed that I could have trusted my friends. But I was wrong.
The air is becoming unbreathable. I’m falling asleep and I will soon sleep where the dead sleep.
