There’s a clanging, a constant beating. There’s a tolling of a bell and an eternally reverberating strum of other worldly discord that I’ve always been able to hear since my first wasted breath and for three and a half decades it’s crept ever closer and grown louder. We all hear it but are programmed to ignore it like how you can always see the end of your nose but your brain chooses to ignore it without your consent. It’s never quiet or still for one second. Beat. Tick. Ring. Clang. Strum. Then one day not only is the whole dirge so loud you can’t stand it anymore but it’s so hopelessly and irrevocably out of tune that it feels like physical weight. Suddenly you wonder how long you’ve known and if you could’ve fixed it but you’re pretty sure it was a machine built only to malfunction so it’s purpose and execution are faulty and perfect at the same time. The worst part about feeling like you’re doing everyone a favor is realizing that you’re never going to matter enough for your presence OR absence to even register on anyone’s radar in any lasting way. You never have. You never will. Dust in the wind or some other bullshit song lyric that was never as deep as any number of chemical reactions lead you to believe it was. Wake up. Breathe. Keep breathing. Cry in your cereal and laugh at all the right times too. That’s what we need, captain. Right the ship. Write the tragedy. Everyone is waiting on you to realize you’re not some exploding star or a goddamn David Bowie song and even if you were, stars gasp their dying breaths in the sky above you every night and shout their final fuck yous into space in the most terrible fashion and all you see is a twinkling little painting that’s always hung just so since you were blissfully unaware of any of it. You’ve never known. None of it ever mattered and none of it ever will so you might as well eat shit. Fuck you.