Venting doesn’t work anymore. Poetry is stupid. I am not creative. I can’t create beauty. My words are hollow.

Venting doesn’t work anymore. I can say the angriest things here, in my personal space WHERE I LEGALLY HAVE THE RIGHTS TO SAY WHATEVER I WANT SO FUCK YOU GO DIE PIECE OF SHIT FUCK OFF they’re just words anyway so why you so worked up.

All the unwanted visitors.

Some are easy enough to ignore.

But they keep coming back.

Useless trash.

Fuck.

I’m so lost. I lose. I lose at the game of life. It’s over.

I have nowhere to go.

Nothing I do matters. I cannot emphasize how powerfully defeating it is when nothing you do matters. Your existence has been nullified, yet you must continue to live, carry out the duties of a speck of dust, a mote of life and existence in the universe, without any meaning whatsoever.

It’s fucked.

There’s nowhere to go. No place to stop.

You still don’t get it. YOU ARE WRONG.

Fucking die.

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