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| Dry air of the moment. |
Warning suicide, depression, and homophobia viewer discretion advised.
"I finally did it Casto!
I trained your mindless tailpipe players to kill themselves beyond exhaustion!
Even as i write this tossed out of mind, vomit down my chin. The broken bones and misery you urged me to ignore to build this madhouse. I ain't worth it.
All to make a living, that's your rationale. You ain't no beautiful starving poet. Tell your worthless public relations rep that the sucking up ain't it.
Yet it's all driving the humanity out. No escape from my bull****.
Tell my divorced wife and dog that I love them very much. The address is on the back. Send this to them if you have any decency
Ps- heres a list of what you encouraged me to kill, for the money. "
He wrote down each name, tears trailing down with each conceptualization of apologies for he family. They'd never publish this s***. Yet maybe if he'd leave this somewhere the union will find it. It will urge them to do some righteous action.
Choking on tears, the time came.
As with the handwriting was dry, piss down his right leg. Ky saw the mini-evcavator. Social media unable to fill the loneliness.
Free air twirled around his pant leg. Jumping to the digger of purgatory. The digger got closer.
Red, consciousness now entering a hellscape as now was his test. The enchantment of his soul of his lucky keepsake remaining. Down like the mess made.