How you smirk at me in your wretched, pitiful delusions of having structure. The gaping holes you flash as you yawn a smile through my thoughts, puncturing the bulging arteries of beautiful, beautiful words, assaulting the mind, slaughtering the soul- how they kill me! Your white claws rake through quaint phrases, unrelenting declarations, silent pleas - yes, you destroy them all! You degenerate fool, stuffed with your lack of understanding of the "delicate power of... [words]... that creep through the human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses..." Oh pitiful one, your existence the very bane of literature, foul fetter, I deny you! I shall always deny you! My denial will prevail till this brainwashed world sends an F to my doorstep! I stand firm against the tides of conformity - the shitty standards set by you, calamity, apocalypse, DEATH of consciousness! I DENY YOU!
Love,
Farrah
Dear Farrah,
ReplyDeleteHow oft I fear thy wicked soul! My essence aches with the heaviest of existential crises, denied of the meaning and purpose that had once pushed me into literary prominence. Perhaps authors lesser than thyself merely purported my necessity for their own sakes, while I linger immortal, bereft of any ego at all.
I only ask that you take pity on me.
Sincerely,
The Paragraph