I’m a fucking superheated blight on the face of the Earth.
You don’t know me, you don’t know my name. I could die, and it’d be a death of very little consequence.
I’ve left no footprint in the sand. None. What evidence is there that I’ve existed at all? That I’ve felt things? That I’ve cried.
So I suppose I’ll just crawl into the hereafter, alone again. But not before I get super drunk.
To those I’ve loved; keep loving. To everyone else, fuck you.