We are tiny creatures on this miserable fucked up planet, and the idea that we represent anything more than parasites, is not only naive and quite frankly laughable, but actually insulting to those of us who do mean more, who are more. People like me. People who's dreams will go deeper than yours, yours which simply scratch the surface of this pitiful rock. There are those who's souls are more profound and who's journey's are more memorable than any other being. There are those of us who are born great, yes... but there are few who die great. Most of us perish sitting in our own shit, too breathless to cry out for mercy or help. Most of us, bleed, scream, and disappear like dust sucked into the belly of a vaccuum cleaner. We wilt, and the joke is, we delude ourselves into thinking we are anything more than weeds. Weeds and parasites, living off the crust of Mother Earth.

I watch you, and in a combination of tragic comedy and despair see you attempt to prolong your pointless existence, ever fearful of the days when you will waste away. Yet, you are so unaware, you have already rotten. To decay would be to return to something greater than what you have become. Moving through your shadows, I smell the stench of it. The grief. The inhumanity... of humans..