I tire of talking about people.
Of writing about people.
The deeds and words.
The thoughts and emotions.
The isolationist within me is revolting.
The reclusive spider wants to be hidden,
Alone to weave webs of comfort and peace.
Nothing shall ever change.
People will be gods.
People will love.
I will have romantic affection for her.
She will not.
She will have romantic affection for me.
I will not.
I have memorized this play.
There has to be a God.
He is sanity.
He is what stops most of us from blowing up parliament.
He stops most of us from dropping off the temple.
...It’s all just preparation for Limbo.
I tire of humanity,
Yet all there’s to do is sit and endure this play.
Laugh when I feel like it.
Cry when I feel like it.
Applaud when I will.