Our flags will always fly at half-mast, because there’s always something new to mourn. It stops feeling like a tragedy when it happens every f**ing day. Every new misfortune gives the voiceless another chance to speak. Stand on the backs of the dead and the k**ers, pound your chest and cast your stones. Stand on the backs of the dead like a hero, do your best to be noticed. Each new disaster is a platform to spread divisive propaganda.
It’s some kind of misguided search for validation, or maybe a blind gesture of ignorant loyalty. f** it (all). This world is ruled by a new kind of terror. We’ve become our own worst enemies, pointing fingers at each other until there’s nothing left. I want to set this world on fire, and watch every man, woman, and child burn. I want to sleep on their ashes, and know the peace of solitude and silence.