1. A LOVE LETTER

I don't feel bad for insufferable people not everyone has an angel. I am a student of predators - it was a mistake to ask me for help. What would you know about strength? What would you know about greatness? The longer you talk, the weaker you sound. This is not about you. It was a mistake to ask me for help - I interfere with everything, for no reason at all. I'd like to congratulate you for buying into the exact same narrative as everyone else. This untasteful place something is broken, something is fucked. This was a mistake. Something is broken, something is fucked.


2. THROW YOUR PHONE IN THE RIVER

I feel trapped in my inability to get you through this. I can't let everything fall apart and it hurts too much to do nothing. Can't eat. Can't sleep. Consciousness is destroying me. My eyes are heavy, with no relief just rusted anchors of frozen meat. Circling a locked groove drain, failing to drown in its filth. Just burn it all away. Remove me. I'm scared. Scarred.


3. THE TIE

It occurs to me, years too late, to spare my lilting ego the trauma. Just how little is being martyred? How little heart there is left to offer? A lidless eye, rose red and reeling - perceiving nothing save an endless seething. Even I can't decide if this is anthem or affect anymore. I think they're getting wise, or maybe they always knew that this never actually mattered. At all.


4. BUT THEY RESPECT MY TACTICS

I don't want to become that just a lesser version of what you once were. All the while, it feels so painfully arbitrary. I've got nothing worthwhile to say and you've got no reason to listen. Whatever gets you talking more. We're trying to keep you engaged with the platform. But this is my story, so I'll narrate myself as whatever I want to: hero, victim. Victim. Hero. I'm just trying to keep myself from drowning. No valuable lesson learned, only loss. Drag me deeper strip away everything I hold. All of your failures condensed, removed, controlled. All grow frail and die. No power lasts. Success is fleeting. Existence: temporary.


5. NOT MY FAULT

I don't know where to start. This consistent battle against unnerving tension. I feel it every day within these walls. No matter how hard I try, I seem incapable of extracting whatever it is that is causing the pain that it spreads. A chill that bores a hole right through my own sense of self. Unnatural chill to this air temperament of unease rustling with the wind. My slight squint punctuated by deepening crow's feet. What have we left? What have we left.


6. LOST GRIP

I can't maintain composure. We deserve this. Numbed by the glare we deserve this. I don't believe that you mean well. Blacked out, bloated vacant, expired. All hail unending growth, all hail my wealth. I'll do anything for money. This similar unveiled torture. This extinction moment a great focus, then erased. But it really is all about you anyway. This is a dying land, and we don't care. We never did. Suppressing years old tears with each gasp of wind. So much life, and all we bring is rot. I don't believe that you mean well.


7. THE DESPERATE SEARCH FOR AN ENEMY

Hopeless addict of righteous judgment, the desperate search for an enemy. Pointless delusion of my own misgivings. Terminal voyeur, drain this abscess of purposeless greed. Fueled demagogue meddling parasite. Tasteless narcissist. Grating sinews under clawed clasp. With flies to remind you of your own decay. The gnashing of teeth with no tensile strength: biteless, witless, senseless. Defanged hollow impotent. Inherent poisonous laziness. And here's the thing that we did before, that you liked so much. Stockpiling wholesome memories and bitter enemies. We just don't care, and it shows. Nothing will change revolution of ash and piss. A defining moment of banal indifference. While none of it matters.


8. UNRESPONSIVE

I'm unravelling so much faster than I used to, like distant blanketed lightning for the impending storm. With an unnatural tenure, this pure cold wave - pulsating in its dominance, and eclipsing all focus. You felt it too, like the beating wings of the thrush. Then brings the storm. Without release, without relief. A ruthless simplicity of which we've become detached, to usher in our greatest fall.
Forgotten
Erased
Unresponsive
Replaced
Abandoned.