Write me off as the fucking scum of the earth.

Scratch my face up to a bleeding crevice.

Dust will follow.

And to every woman whom I’ve ever wronged.

Rip me to shreds through a wood chipper.

I don’t care.

It’s not enough.

I want you to take a sledge hammer to my face.

Take a gun.

Fire it through my heart.

And I will feel pain.

I will.

But it won’t be enough.

Not anymore.

This must be an odd way to tell you.

But from what I’ve seen.

Or what I’ve read, mind you.

It seems it is the end.

If death was possible once.

It is no longer.

Something has changed.

Something that will alter everything on end.

The bringing of a fourth child.

It has already begun.

In the winter.

When we least expected it.

And it went under our skin.

So what was once fiction is now reality.

Disgusting reality.

One that will ruin mankind.

Death will be no longer.

Immortality will be all there is.

It will be a godsend at first.

It will change everything.

People.

Will live forever.

There will be no regrets.

But yet here we are.

The ones who wish nothing more than to be let go.

To be set free.

From this filthy misery.

Some of you call life.

I call it alienation.

To die is all I wish.

But now it’s as if I will only be pushed to seclusion.

Building my own niche.

Where no one will join.

No one will join.

And if anyone joins.

I’ll fucking kill them.