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Sep. 6th, 2014|01:50 pm |
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Would that I could have been at the mercy of death upon coming into this world, taken aside after wriggling from uterine jaws and put against a cinder block and blown apart aloofly with a shotgun, preferably something with a silencer so as not to cause distress to other fetuses. For I don't belong in this rabid pit of hounds lunging at throats to be marked as "the most correct" or "the most maverick" or "the most able to survive" or any other superlative goal conceivable by sentient life. Death upon birth is what I deserved; the mistake has been made and I, a festering tapeworm upon nothing of consequence, shall wriggle his last in a fit of obsolescence and meaninglessness marked by not having been fucking marked. |
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