December 31, 2022: Countdown.
They say time heals all wounds. But what if time is the wound? What if all this time is what hurts? Having it? Not having it? The small bursts of flashes that blind our eyes when we've had just the right amount of it? What heals that? There's no amount of time that can take this shit back. It's all too painful. Remembering everything we've been through. Experiencing the last little bit of it. Knowing that even in the end, we're still fucked up. Fuck a new year. Fuck everyone who's left us to deal with this shit on our own. There is no reward at the end of the tunnel, only darkness, and grief. These asswipes wouldn't help us. They thought it was easier to let us die. But they'll see. Sooner or later they'll see. They all do. So spare us the resolution. No one knows of any resolve, or satisfaction for that matter. No one knows of any change unless change spreads like a virus. And takes every life it can in the process. Michael Jackson tried to tell us and they killed him. The happiest muthafucker who walked this earth died from heartbreak. Like they literally broke this man's heart and he died. What a way to go. I can tell you right now that won't be me. I'd rather let Shai take one for the team then die from that shit. Lord knows he couldn't handle the pressure from what would come next. If I left everything to him we would've lost our legs long ago. I mean who do you think blinded Mr. Asshat? Asher Hatchins. Still, "big bro"s a genius. Fucker managed to finesse expulsion to summer school. Gotta hand it to the boy. I would've took it as a chance to run. Maybe being here right now wouldn't hurt so much.
"I bet it would hurt less."