Snowglobe Daydream

I’ve never felt such stupor, such heavy, sordid hopelessness… it is a dreadful feeling of impending doom, of moving forward inexorably towards the end… It isn’t a choice, it’s an inevitability and the mind recognizes the slaughter machine at the end of the conveyor belt I was unconsentually spat onto. It’s strange, it is though I’ve already died and my fleshy body is in a state of ghostly mourning for the wretched fluke of being born, as though its waiting until my spirit passes to the other side. Its tragic, to know in your heart the end is very near, for a life containing that which gives purpose, splendor and reason for living at all has been outright denied. I was a mistake, a fatuous accident. Why would a God with cognitive intelligence design a creature that cannot function? To derive sick amusement as a child who plucks the legs from an insect does? It’s as ghoulish and foul as being born without a mouth and being made to starve to death. My existence is repulsive, a freakish, nonsensical monster. I hate you, my parents for facilitating this joke. I didn’t want this, why would anyone want to be born into a world without limbs, to exist solely as a defenseless, vulnerable creature, utterly helpless to the whims and treachery of life? Had I viewed the terms of birth before its initiation and seen the horrible junctures, scenes of what life would bestow and the rape of all pleasantries that could be I would have cringed in horror and thrust such the proposed contract from me, for it was a promise of hell and all that hell is imagined to be. For hell is not where hurt and terror is received, it is where wonder, innocence and love is given and then stripped away.