Deadwest
I asked for you to come, didn't I? And now that you are here, I forget how miserable you are. Most insufferable. Now I pray for a knife to send you away. There is no peace here. Only noise. Is there a place for the imperfected? Is there sanctity in the unserene? Where do the uncomfortables go to find comfort? Does there exist such a place? When will we get to rest? When will we get to live? When will we find functionality? Where do we go to belong? When do we stop enduring all the lovely unlovelies? I wish I could throw up and everything would disappear. Why can't we always hide in the dark? That seems to be the closest we've ever had to peace. But we are not allowed. I am dying in this alive. I want my tumor to come. There is no balance, is there? It's all been a fucking lie! Come what may, when the day arrives, will the selfish only continue to prevail? And the rest continue to suffer? Death after death. We are all rubbish.