who needs

Though its hands are silken, its heart is of iron.

It lulls you to sleep only to stand by your bed and jeer at the dignity of the flesh.

It makes mock of your sound senses, and lays them in thistledown like fragile vessels.

Verily the lust for comfort murders the passion of the soul, and then walks grinning in the funeral. 

Khalil Gibran - The Prophet on Houses

Who needs it when t fades away?
When all you have at the end f the day is your friends and a strong sense of nausea and contempt.

My life goes like this: duty and death.
And the obstacle that has been blinding me is off the path now.

I've missed my friends here.