May 3, 2026
The Ill Gloat

Cannot hear, cannot feel, 

Cannot here, cannot there. 

Remorse will not seek me, will not confess. 

An asshole, in joyous mockery of me, 

Cold and haunting, a grin of condescension. 

Time for me to pass, 

Won’t death stop holding out, release me a last? 

The world is a sick joke, 

As are you.