In Circles

Somewhere out in the universe I’m a TV show. Nobody wishes to be me, and everyone enjoys laughing instead.


My life is all a joke. Tell me it’s not cosmic, divine intervention that made me a kid who hates affection, just to make me a stupid, unhuggable fuck of an adult that’s born on fucking Valentine’s Day.

Tell me it wasn’t all part of the plan to make my dad charming and wildly successful, all while my stupid ugly ass is drowning and trying to read up on how to swim.

Tell me that my existence, the constant struggle to find a reason for caring and yet family that can only care for me isn’t just the universe giving me the fucking finger.



This message in a bottle only helps somewhat, and I’m just even more of a fucking idiot to think some god will see it and finally fucking smite me and my worthless ass.




I waited for my life to happen. And now when I realize my mistake- how far I dug this hole for myself, and how much I just want to be buried… this is when the universe throws at me a plan for the fucking future. Now my dad wants me to fill his shoes eventually as a CEO, and I just wanna fill the fucking urn of ashes I was destined to go.

My mind is already used to the plague. My soul, the fun in EVERYTHING once close to my heart is gone. I don’t deserve any affection or effort wasted on me, but this gay fucking universe decided I’d get a few decades of suffering. Maybe me shooting myself in the face was part of the plan for others, who the fuck knows.

Nothing short of affection and constant motivation could possibly bring the life back. The only counselor I opened up to told me my life and all my struggles were bullshit and I should fuck off, so when do I get to? When do I get to just disappear and die already, do I really have to fly off somewhere to get this relief?



The universe wants me to play this long game for its entertainment. I’m eating sticks of butter and telling it and my heart to just fuck off already.

I’m not sick of this Earth or anybody in it.
I’m just sick of me…