To feel this empty: to wane these struggles…
To hate this deeply; to detest goodness, and loathe life;
What is wrong with me?
What is happening to me?
I’m spiraling out of control: I’m losing to myself more and more.
The ending of all things is nearer,
And the purposed message all the clearer…
There is no love within me;
Mine essence is cold and true;
So, I pursue the destruction of man…
And hold iniquitous wrath, without dispute…
I hate the world;
I despise the flesh;
There is found innocence only within deathless unrest:
The children sleep quietly; the mind uneasy.,
The sentience profoundly affront the heavenly…
Oh, Dearing winds of abandon…,
I harken thy screams, how’t compelling…
The seventy-two lesser ones,
Refound with all wiser thoughts…,
Debarring, the sightless sense of tomorrow,
Damning, these mournful tides of everting sorrow…
This miserable existence, so fulling, the futility,
Happiness, is but a plague, and love but a disease…,
Optimism: a divisive delusion, and pursuit, less than a dream,
Life is but a blighted cesspool of…despairingly endless agony.