I abused my parents for years. Sometimes, I feel you just should just keel over. There's nothing saving you, the only things that keep you alive are plastic and have deteriorated. I live in a rotten world with a heart full of hate and anger directed toward anyone who has ever fell for the corporate lie that we should cater to the sick and the mentally ill, those wetodds, when in actuality no one ever does anything and the sick and rotten carousel keeps moving without our inference, without our false compassion and claims to be above the material. Our piousness and our pity. I try to find beauty, god, some sort of eternity in the garden of waste, in the filthiest pits and heights of despair, just to come back barren and empty handed. I'm told to love; I can't love. I long for compassion while the world tears itself apart without an opening. I'm nauseated. I abused my parents for years; beat on them, degraded them, was a worm feeding on their splayed and rotten corpses.