i am happy. i am happy to be sad. i've given up on trying to make you understand. i am sincere. i am sincerely full of crap. when the irony ceases to help me cope with that, all i make is noise trying to express my point of view. empty words reverberate on nothing in this world. i speak into the void curses to use against my soul, echos to the eschaton forever to be told.
my, oh my, why can't i change my life, valentine? please don't leave my soul to weather, i can't see this getting better.
(i'm a cancer on society. caustic instability, crass insensitivity. i'm a product of modernity)
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