CursedFate

I activate to assimilate the insubordinate acceleration of my subjective will to dominate what is exonerate and excavate what I thought would alleviate my hate but this acridity of my sanity's complexity in it's simplistic carnate machinery seamlessly woven into ending continuity arguing congruity in a derisive missive for minute masses too astute to actualize in birth is despise in verity lies envious demise. (Why would I falsify anything that wasn't absolutely true?)

What can end this penman's strife, Thoughts in head to end his life. Give him pills to make him feel, Pills that make the world seem real. Pills that try to help him cope, Pills that try to give him hope. But in the end 'tis all the same, And only he is left to blame. Until he leaves his mortal frame, His cursed fate drives him insane. c.f