I don’t give a flying fuck anymore.
I may be an offspring of an ape or resultant of a tall tale to cover up a rape. Whatever. I am dead on the inside, my faith in the human race has died. My soul’s been sold out, my mate has left this coil; two was one now one is as fucking glum as a nun a none A ZERO.
( Yep the either or ^ is one and the same. I realised that after I wrote it but I’ll not be changing it. The pretences of a wannabe wordsmith these are not; these are the words of a tormented soul in their death throes. )
I learned a lot this past month and a bit and experienced emotions I’d only ever read about, I thought I understood, I felt I was able to comprehend and adequately empathise — I was a fucking agony aunt to the misfits that found solace in my company (I of course, I realise now, was the biggest misfit of them fucking all, walking tall and, downright delusional; a hardcore unwitting freak) — but I know now I knew fuck all then… these feelings, the feelings of love and the feelings of betrayal can never be understood unless you YOUR VERY SELF are ripped and gripped and totally fucking horsewhipped by them. I’ve been stripped, laid bare on the brimstone floor. The guilt trip is like nothing I’ve ever experienced before: the pain’s been driven right through my fucking cardio-cum-cognitive core. These ever preset emotions cloud ‘everything,’ they rip and claw and have turned positivity to utter destitution, golden summer light to tar black winter night: the future is now the past, plans of P A S have turned to perpetual heart wrenching nostalgia. There is nothing but nothingness. I can no longer kid myself, I can no longer even dream it all to be another way, hope’s been well and truly fucking had. All I had and all I lived for died the day you departed. I’ll reiterate, all I lived for died the day you departed. I’ll underscore my point once more: all I had and all that I’d lived for, died the day YOU departed from our ‘us.’