And you don’t hate me, imagine. Why is that? You hate everyone but me. There must be something very special about me. To escape your hatred. Your scorn.
At least I know I’m dead. At least I don’t pretend. At least I know I’m a corpse. At least I know I’ve got nothing to say. At least I know my … redundancy. That everything’s just played out. That the whole world’s been placed in the hands of maniacs.
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Work in Progress 