I’m taking the pain I see and hear as my own, it’s like it’s trailing into my blood me via an IV. “Cruel slaughter of chicks.” reads the words in one tab, “Anti-trans bullshit.” Reads in another. I’m grappling with an overwhelming cloud of darkness that is shrouding my every move. I’m a cynical bastard, I have my reasons. I use it as protection, yet here I am. Despite my cynicism and my apparent knowledge that humans aren’t all that great, that we’re just animals, still I mourn for a time when I…Well when I guess, when I was young enough that illusions to the contrary might hold weight. Though I don’t know when I was young enough for this, because I remember saying similar shit as a kid, I remember thinking it. I think I mourn the idea of illusions I never even had.
I prepare myself, supposedly with my cynicism and ‘wit’ for the gruesome truth of the world, yet I look at the world, and I’m not prepared. There is too much pain. I’m tired. I’m tired of how ugly everything is, I include myself in this. I’m not judging the world from a place where I feel like I’m the human with the best qualities, I know I’m ugly too. It should be comforting, really, I guess. I’m as ugly as everyone else, but I don’t want to look anymore, at anything, at anyone least of all myself.