Why do I sleep in a comfortable bed at a comfortable temperature with blankets and music, and not in a gutter somewhere next to my dead colleague? Why was I born here, and not somewhere where I learn to just survive? Why do I complain about homework when others keep muted complaints about disease and death? Why am I not shot or killed or run over, but innocent people are? Why do I continue to wrong the world and add to its wrongness?
The people who have come before before me have placed me in this position. They've murdered and tortured and wept and died, and I ended up here. Now they're demanding an answer to all of the above, and I just don't know that answer.
When you look at the bigger picture, every word becomes but a speck on life's fairgrounds. I think I've stepped out of frame for too long, and I'm halfheartedly fighting my way back in.
I'll never be a good person.
I'll never be a good person.
Because I am distracted. They're throwing this shit at me and asking me to sit down and solve problems and I just want to solve the real problems. The ones that have no answers.
The mathematical formula to the delicate web of life.
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