“… my [un]comfort[able] zone – really …”

Do you really believe you are putting me in a zone of discomfort for the sins I have committed?

A place to commit sin – or another to improve?

Is the latter what you believe in your damn fascist [foolis{h]ism}?

An in and an out of ridiculous measure.

I’m sorry but utterly I’m unable to accept that your gauntlet ain’t whatted of an idiocy unridded by unimaginative complicity.

The comfort zones you talk about are already high uncomfortable for a me like me, who sees already too much to ever be happy again.

And whilst I know no obligation to undergo your tortured wild, if I do, and when I do, the game will never end: 

a promise I dearly send to you, a promise of weirdly taught.

I have suffered too much, so much in my life that further strife is easy chickshit-sized in form and shape, and fear and here, and ways and days of miserable says.

And if I am to fail, again as before, the only two things that can happen to me will happen any day,

any way:

  1. I will either suffer on, as in wasted life of long-shameful me; or 
  2. die in disproportionate time, inside all too knowing universe of all too unkindly rhyme.

I so am used to failure that success no longer attracts.

You have driven me to this: you have made me this had: you have achieved your grand goal of passivity overpowering …

that sad.

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