I'm amazed you even know how to breathe.
So I see grotesque things. When awake. Sickening masks hide sickening behavior. Drooling smiles hint at the awful impulses waiting behind the teeth. Chirping birds don't make beautiful music; they vomit war.
So much for being coddled. It's not worth the pain and degradtion to want. The cold hands of Mother Nothingness pamper my fat ass. Her touch is a symphony of reality's horns, gunshots and whimpering pleas for some non-existent betterness.
I'm not grotesque and coddled. You are.
