everything is as complicated or as simple as you decide it to be, people

to be honest, there's something sinisterly beautiful about agony. i'm sure edmund burke could explain this far better than i ever could, but the pain that precedes my every action feels meaningful in developing the perspective of the world that'll reflect on my face when i'm eighty.

the ennui and the ache and the longing and the bitterness-- give it all to me. let it engulf me until i'm filleted like a human butterfly on a cold, dark metal table. i want the coroner to open me up and have everything in me be colored black and spill out like tar.

that is what i get. that's what this trite, shortened, ultimately fruitless thought pattern has given me.

i want to exist in a state of pain and absorb everything around me in the hopes that no one else would have to feel exactly what i feel right now. my suffering and my martyrdom and my pariah existence give me a level of elitism and beauty that none of you would begin to understand.



but then again, i'm just like everyone else.

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