Born at least capable of contemplating the act of suicide. I wasn't. So tonight I suffer...
I sleep under a roof I have not contributed a penny towards sustaining.
I eat of food I have not earned.
I exist amongst people... and I havde no means of soon exterminating my plague on them-- the plague of said existence.
It gnaws my core. I gnaw my core-soul.
I bite. I gnash. I fling and flail with Tyrannasaurous jaw. I suck like a Hoover. I'm not having much fun being tonight-- not jim or swan or asswipe or any other variant of this round's existence.
So, how are you doing c'est soir?
Better, I hope.
In the New York Times, a poly-mono warning
6 hours ago