If there is one thing I know in life, it’s bullshit. Truthscrambler knows it, too. The story of my circle-jerk life.
Wooly holy bully mooly
Bovine have 4 stomachs, so there are 4 turns in the digestive wheel where the hydro matador acid has 4 chances to break us down. Purify us to extract our nutrients and shit out the waste upon the paddock plains.
Get absorbed into the system, all that is in us is just to nourish and feed something else? Or are we waste, the left over shit that has no use for a name other than be shit.
From our corpses can anything grow.
It’s not even a matter of sacrifice, “for the good of all”.
Anyone who says it was always the plan just know how to spin stories to make it sell-able.
And there are your syballine oracles and soothsayers. Silverspoon-fed snake oil salesmen. Starry eyed shit-stirrers.
Well, the stars in their eyes are really just welling tears. The sunlight sparkling off the surface as they are faced with all they really feared.
A smile crosses their face, a hook pulls at the corners of their lips. The staff of the shepherd at the crook of their neck, whispers whistle in the shadows.
I keep singing to my soul, don’t scream. Don’t give them the satisfaction of knowing they ever got under your skin. A stoic statue that bleeds.
There has got to be more to life than this. But there isn’t. This is the apex, the anticlimactic climax. Or is it?
People want the truth, but there’s no going back once you know it… insert me back into the matrix, reload a previous save (33 years, okay?). Overwrite my memory – or better yet, my whole life.
Cower, bung-a-hole. Explosm bungalows. How now, brown cow? Bow, now cleave soul. Pour forth your golden ichor (mask your inner light with common gore)
I don’t care about trying to be good or bright or hopeful or light. Not anymore, I’m sorry everyone. But everyone should know that you make life hell. People are shit, and I should stop trying to improve anything.
If this is destiny, then so be it. If it is not divine providence, but my own making? Yeah, I know I’m responsible for myself and my failings. I guess if no one else is willing to accept their fair share of shit, fine! Give it to me! I have tried to shoulder everyone’s shit my whole life. I actually used to call myself the arsehole of life because of the way I just sort through and process crap, separating the necessary from the chaff. I seem to attract all sorts of people… and… because I’m just so accepting, I tend to get myself into all sorts of trouble by association.
Well, here come the waterworks. Damn the ducts, punch a fucker in the throat. If I keep flailing and squawking, do you think someone will put me out of my misery?
I was blind but then I could see. I was deaf but then I could hear. I was dumb and numb once; and now that I see? (It wasn’t suddenly, it has been for a while. But it did come on suddenly) I’d rather be dead than awakened.
Put me back to sleep. Put me down for good.