The Human Race Should be Ashamed and Possibly Terminated
I can't write like I used to. It is not a case of returning writer's block. It is not a case of the unnecessary cruelty of my perpetually shifting moods. It is not the case of changing medication or a sudden uprooting of my life, yet again. No, it just is. I've used this quote before, but it rings through my head unendingly: "Everything changes and everything dies." And that's that. The cause of my inability to write successfully anymore. The reason behind my lack of inspiration, my lack of creative output, my lack of a will to put my voice out there in any way whatsoever. The following poem is evidence of all of this. It is uninspired, it is sloppy, it is tired. But I feel it all terribly strongly; this perpetual disdain for humanity and all that we've done and all that we will continue to do. It came about through refamiliarizing myself with Unit 731. If you know what that is, then I don't have to say more. And I won't. I might not keep this si...