My petulance edits these but it just makes sense for me to decieve. Isn’t that what you need? Please. We never agreed. All I am is noise in a vacuum, poise in a smashroom, am I here to break bread or just continue to pass through? Let me ask you what you would do if the weight of the world wasn’t an issue. Wait, no, I insisted you missed the gist of this so it wouldn’t be fair if your pedestal rose into the mist too. Let the fog clear then I’ll know what to do. I admit it, it’s true, it’s quite the view standing smug above the clouds thinking I’m the next thing new.

Sometimes, though, it feels like I was gone before I got there, that I left before I came. I take it all in but I mindfully refrain for it wasn’t their injuries that caused all the pain. I see their capacity, the impending catastrophe of their opportunistic tenacity. I can’t believe you’ve actually asked me to act against this matter-of-factly. Is it really healthier to disbelieve, hope then percieve retroactively? I still don’t fully know how to grieve exactly but I’m at least swimming in that dead sea actively.

I called the truce when the demons got loose and started using my screws as part of the abuse. My parting words are going to be an excuse, angled obtuse so that I’m not affected by any fallout they produce. You’re right, I paid for this hayride but I’m falling off the wagon a playwrite, a ‘reach-for-the-stars’ stalactite, changing the universe from outside with insight, the last rites of an arrogant asswipe.

Goodnight.