Grotesque

Please, for the love of god. Just shoot me.
This disease of the insides, I spit on those who think they know me. What fools to try and figure. There are no real answers to a problem so complex it fails to be a problem. And do you know what happens to children who drown in their fears? Paranoia, anxiety, depression. A girl named me. This monster I have become, this horrid unfeeling thing. I can’t recognize my reflection any longer. The mirror has rejected me as well as the human population embedded in this pattern of mainstream egotistic. Rancid, putrid, vile. I spit in your face.
Emptiness of a third encounter. Shall I go so far to say, we are all alone. We will all die alone. Not holding anyones hand. Not kissing a lovers lips. Alone is how it ends. Alone and empty. Can you hear that silence? Doesn’t it burn into your stomach? I bet your feeling it now…the laughter will fill you up, those ignorant tyrants. The very month of may, this day of eight. Me was born unto this earth, to fill you with mindless dribble. I hope you enjoy it.