Ode to Veeky Forums
Why am I allergic to joy?
I am lying to myself
to write this, to write anything;
to document such a charade
as my livelihood:
humiliation and degradation,
I would imagine
poison the waters of potential beauty.
Operating, at all,
breeds distaste that lives with me
like a disease,
breeds nothing in me but contempt.
The truth is painful and elusive,
I cannot help but repress it.
One's eyes can be too open.
It is not worth it.
