by Alexander Ziperovich
You will become whatever it is you most want not to become and you will never become whatever it is you most want to become,
And they will rip into your soul until your soul lays in tatters until you have no soul left and they will keep tearing at the emptiness where your soul once was, screaming with laughter,
They will drown you until you become accustomed to not breathing and then they will raise you above the surface of the water like they are baptizing you in flames and they will let you breathe fire,
They will come into your heart and establish themselves, they will diarrhea and vomit on the most precious parts of you, they will howl with laughter as you cringe and lose yourself in the pain,
They will place you in a hall of mirrors until you go insane confronting yourself, then they will remove you from your own true reflection so that all you see is the person you might have been and this will be far worse and the mirrors will shatter and you will bleed upon your own hideous reflection,
They will give you an endless amount of happinesses, you will ruin it all for everyone and yourself and you will learn nothing except that you are a ruinous, decrepit creature,
You will gain not a thing.
You will gain nothing except excruciating pain and even the pain won’t be worthy, the pain will be false and contrived, the kind of pain that people will scream at you for having, the kind of pain that you are not allowed to have, that you are not supposed to have and you will be ridiculed for having it,
And they will laugh,
And you will gain nothing.
You will find it impossible to move, you will wither but you will not die, you shall become a statue, a cold stone shaped into the shell of your lost soul, you will try to move an inch and for every attempt you will be scorned and hated and looked upon with the utmost disgust until you stop trying to move at all and you will be laughed at even for that,
You will break your back breaking everyone else’s back, and nothing will be good, the pain will never stop, god will never come, only the devil, only more agony, only more confusion, only more of the same, you will become used to it all, you will wish to die but you will be unable because you will find yourself a coward,
And then you will at some point die but before you die your father will tell you in no uncertain terms that he will hold no funeral for you and that to celebrate your life would be blasphemous and you will breathe your last breath with his words like knives in your head and you will be eternally alone and damned,
And to fight will be futile,
And you will gain nothing at all, nothing.
Nothing at all.