I’m okay, managing a feeble smile.
But I’m not okay. I’m not fine with what they’re trying to do with me. They take all control away from me. They leave me with no choice. They threw me into dizzying chaos, but robbed me of the ability to find my bearings. It seemed like they’re trying to fight the fire. But they’re really just allowing me to fuel the fire. They don’t think it’ll happen, but there’ll come a day when I become wholly consumed by the fire. Then it’ll be game over. Yay.
I know I know. I’m difficult. I’m a hard nut to crack. I am absolutely detestable. They can stop trying.
Can’t they see the endlessness of it all? Everything will be futile in the end. I know it’ll. It always will.
I hate this. I hate all of these.
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