ChrisinLA
Posted: Tue Mar 08, 2022 11:16 am
You remember lots of things about many women.
Of all the things you remember about women, I hope the first is that none of them have ever loved you. You remember lots of women's names, but nobody knows the name of a woman who loves you. You remember the places where lots of women have lived, but not any place a woman wanted to share with you. You remember the names of many women's boyfriends and husbands, but you are by yourself because women do not want you.
You are alone when you shoot semen into your weak palm. When you are dying, you will be alone with memories of old porn. No one has ever held your hand because they wanted to. Pornography is your primary and final relationship.
Everyone who has ever had the responsibility of caring for you is disappointed in themselves.
You are a mundane, boring obscenity levied against natural decency. All cruel methods of execution ever inflicted onto the human animal are retroactively justified because you were born. You are unloved, with good cause.
Please understand that your father, if he is still alive, deserves the mercy of forgetting you. It is unspeakably selfish that you deny him the relief of reading your obituary. He led a cursed existence from the moment the world began to understand you. He would have considered himself a criminal every time he looked into your dead, selfish, needing eyes.
I have it on good authority that your mother avoids looking at her own vagina in the bath, because that is where you came from. She bitterly regrets every moment of wasted agony spent birthing you. I hope she understands that the misshapen absence in your heart is the fault of god or nature, and not a failure of her maternal efforts.
Chris is the name of a soft, inflamed cavern on the body of our species. It is a tide-pool filled with debris left over from the wreck of wholesome things. You should save your money, so that you can pay people to touch you.
Love is in the sun, and you are the farthest thing of all from that.
Of all the things you remember about women, I hope the first is that none of them have ever loved you. You remember lots of women's names, but nobody knows the name of a woman who loves you. You remember the places where lots of women have lived, but not any place a woman wanted to share with you. You remember the names of many women's boyfriends and husbands, but you are by yourself because women do not want you.
You are alone when you shoot semen into your weak palm. When you are dying, you will be alone with memories of old porn. No one has ever held your hand because they wanted to. Pornography is your primary and final relationship.
Everyone who has ever had the responsibility of caring for you is disappointed in themselves.
You are a mundane, boring obscenity levied against natural decency. All cruel methods of execution ever inflicted onto the human animal are retroactively justified because you were born. You are unloved, with good cause.
Please understand that your father, if he is still alive, deserves the mercy of forgetting you. It is unspeakably selfish that you deny him the relief of reading your obituary. He led a cursed existence from the moment the world began to understand you. He would have considered himself a criminal every time he looked into your dead, selfish, needing eyes.
I have it on good authority that your mother avoids looking at her own vagina in the bath, because that is where you came from. She bitterly regrets every moment of wasted agony spent birthing you. I hope she understands that the misshapen absence in your heart is the fault of god or nature, and not a failure of her maternal efforts.
Chris is the name of a soft, inflamed cavern on the body of our species. It is a tide-pool filled with debris left over from the wreck of wholesome things. You should save your money, so that you can pay people to touch you.
Love is in the sun, and you are the farthest thing of all from that.