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Even GOD rested.
It's true, even god rested. And we know about all the intricate details because if he were awake all night, patching all the holes and burying all of his mistakes, he wouldn't let this happen. He wouldn't let any of this happen.
True, true that. Even god rested. Envy is a real disease and I get it that you want me to just chill the fuck out. It's true, true that. Whatever I'm going through right now is preparing me for what I asked for. "Keep the (fucking) faith up!" Heh, easy for you to say. "Feel the fear and do it anyway," 'cause you say, saying how I feel will never ruin a 𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙻 𝙲𝙾𝙽𝙽𝙴𝙲𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽. Easy for you to say! Yeah, easy for you to say 'cause you think everything linearly. Your head is an algebraic equation of a polynomial with degree one. x₁v₁ + x₂v₂ + bla bla bla + xₖvₖ equals to 𝘻𝘦𝘳𝘰. Your head is so inherently corrupted and detached that you can't seem to grasp that all of us are actually just helpless, miserable animals (scared and hopeless), rather than mere algorithms propagating back and forth to make decisions, to feel something. Feel and I say 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 'cause I know you won't understand this basic concept of always feeling the need to run and defend your life. You're a monster. Sick, cold-hearted, bloodied monster. Everyone I know is being eaten alive and I'm waiting for the moment until the plague starts to disintegrate my skin and bones. And I know you'll be okay with that 'cause you believed that life would be a better, kinder place through all of the misery and it will {not} be an accident. Oh, this is the divine's plan! Oh, trust in the stars, trust in the earth, trust in mother nature's cries and wails! Well, you're wrong for that. You're wrong 'cause somewhere, somewhere between the Big Bang and the genesis of modulated frequency, there's a primordial bomb blowing up and killing all the angels to extinction with that blinding, fluorescent light. No god, no saints, no heavenly bodies will allow this humiliation and pain. No god, no saints, no heavenly bodies will let the sun dies and the cosmos to bark in short-breathed laughter. This world is formed by the hands of someone who's built from confusion, desire, abomination, passion, solitude, e g o, perplexion... what is it? We have seen all the symptoms and heard the prognostications of the end. You think I'm funny. Of course I'm funny, I'm a fucking lunatic made with the same component of the god that had long left me. Pyhhric victories is how all of this tasted like. You've seen the death of the stars and you thought that it's just the universe making room for more worlds to be born. But you're wrong. You're wrong for that. This is a mistake. God has made a mistake and the form of things is breaking apart. You lie. You're a liar because I know you can hear it. Everybody else can too, but they don't deny it. They don't. They aren't like you.
So don't. Don't you dare. Don't you fucking dare to tell me to leave it to luck and leave it all alone.
[I'm scared. I'm scared. I'm scared.]
'Cause I think about it all the time.
All the 𝗳𝘂𝗰𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 time.