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.