biscuits

fuck this. you can be a lonesome little shit and loathe company at the same time. trying either of those only propels you into the other. that’s the way it is and you know it. then you spend time learning proper social etiquette so as to not seem as shitty as you feel because we’re so goddamn humble. we’re on the front lines of the status quo like toy soldiers and we sacrifice our lives before anyone else. how many times have you died in your lifetime? the cards are stacked and thinking about it makes you feel guilty.

i hate admit when i’m wrong but my actions contradict then admit i’m wrong all the time. it’s measured in guilt that i somehow got tricked into placing on myself. what?! i spent so much learning how to be the good guy that i forgot it’s the assholes that are always cumming on top. the good guy sits there and takes the load and say stupid tropes like, “well, it was in the heat of the moment.” those are things they sissy trained you into responding with so you’d feel nearly ashamed if you even thought about change. they beat inadequacies into the dough to bake your cake. just when you’re about to cum on your own terms that little voice they stapled to the back of your subconscious says, and just once, “it’s nobody’s fault but my own,” and forfeit your revolution. at this point we gotta realize they took your sense of self away a long time ago.

it’s like i spent ten fucking years learning how to keep cool and brushing off things that piss ME off so shit don’t piss EVERYONE ELSE off. letting part of yourself seep into some cavity in the back of your mind, festering silently.

don’t wake up.

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