Kill Rock n' Roll

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So I felt like the biggest asshole (felt like the biggest asshole), as I... wait anxiously for the installation of Endwalker -- and I am sure later on too in queue -- my keen optimism has dwindled down into a bouyant mess. Gone are the days where my safety lines are at all times kept intact. Bygone days. Months. Destruction of its madness cemented on my inadvertent hesitation to make things right. Because fuck it. Mow down the sexy people?

I do miss the catboys and the bunnygirls, but the whataboutism over the past few months has been staggeringly triggering, and my sharp-eyed focus on work and the loss of my comfort zones has made certain that my extracurricular activities were all left by the wayside. A simple promise I gave to someone before I was left to fend for myself in the cold. But now all is done. I have finally killed rock and roll... or have I really? Eat all the grass that you want; accidents happen in the dark. December was the purported month of last chance. Technically we all are still here, and yet it is safe to assume it is all left for dead. No hope in sight, endwalking this folly down to its finality.

Every time I look in your eyes, every day I'm watching you die, all the thoughts I see in you about how I... why?

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