You make me sick. You disgust me. You are a stinking, rotting carcass. You are the scum of the earth. You are slime. You will be forgotten when you die. It will be as if you never existed. Are you proud of yourself for your little throwaway comment? How long did it take you to come up with that, stewing in your own filth?
Are you satisfied? Are you Whole?
When you fall asleep in your room, sheets stained with the stench of your sweat and your failure, do you dream of the life you might’ve lived if you’d chosen better? If you hadn’t let it all slip between your fingers like crumbling sandstone, like murky waters born from your ocean of lies? If you hadn’t had so much hatred, so much vitriol in your stupid frail heart that hasn’t felt the touch of another human being in so many years? ARE YOU MAD? ARE YOU INSANE?
HAVE YOU EVER FELT JOY? HAVE YOU EVER FELT HAPPINESS? HAVE YOU EVER CARED ABOUT ANYTHING IN YOUR ENTIRE LIFE YOU USELESS, ARROGANT, POMPOUS, SORRY EXCUSE FOR A LIVING THING? YOU OSTENTATIOUS, TASTELESS FUCK?
“Probopass will never be number one” I hope both sides of your pillow are warm tonight. I hope when you tuck into your slimy damp bed tonight in your humid ass room with no ventilation that smells like shit because you haven’t opened the window in four years that you can’t get comfortable and you toss and turn and think about what you’ve done. I hope you die alone and afraid, haunted by what you could’ve had.
Probopass have mercy on your wicked soul.
izzy806
theartofmadeline
baratheonpilled
vaporwave
titsay
