The Intuition of 2020, in 2019

     They should have public warnings on films, albums, and people's foreheads that say "empath discretion advised". I've got a gallon less in my teardrop supply from living the last week. I won't quote the Buddha about existence but if you want proof that being alive is s**t, google it. Or just stick around for your young adult years- if your teenage heart hasn't succeeded in any attempts to leave beforehand. 

     I don't write terribly much anymore because nothing is poetic enough. 

     Nothing is permanent. There is no home, no friend, no pet. No tree stays the same and no corner store has a walking path where any footprint of mine leaves sentiment. I can find myself no air to breathe, nothing to see, not even my own body. It absolutely does not exist. But what I do have, is my Grandpa, Adatiel, the One That Repeats, Evil and Empty Space. However, none of these people talk to anyone besides me, and the conversation does not stop. 

     You can see, though, how this does not fly in the real world. When Adatiel tells me to kill myself at work with the blade of the box opener, I don't get to cry in front of customers. It doesn't feel like an isolated case anymore. I know that this must be universal in some way. This is just what being a young woman is, right? 

     It's incredible how much complaining I do for someone who's never had to work hard in their life. I've never even died before. I get everything set in front of me for free and at the expense of others. I am fatally draining people in order to not enjoy anything about the wonderful life they have given me.

     However, I write this on a day where I am human. I'm not even paranoid about the camera in my room. 

     But I think about rape a lot. I didn't believe it could have changed me. I didn't know what it was. 

     I loved dangerous things so much that I became one.