The DG2099 Show: Creations of the Broken Exile
So yeah, I have fan creation stuff here too. To begin here is a load of ultra-depressing poetry I have made. Some people thought they were well constructed and I am in a state of utter misery so.... Here they are:
Eternal Exile: A Rather Pathetic and Sad Piece of Poetry By DG2099
Depression, loneliness, sadness, denial, isolation, alienation, exiled, hated, slandered, and oppressed. Hmf, sounds like something only a very bad person would encounter, either that or a man with no luck. Luck, what a word, it can describe so many "what ifs" that could have been and been not. Pleasure and pain go together hand in hand like dawn and dusk. Opposites that have the deepest and sickest urges to be each other. Oh the imperfection everyone lives in with all of its problems and conflicts abound. Heh, what a strange enigma we can never truly say we can figure out. Some people are simply fortunate and most have decent lives, but there are those that have only one constant friend by the name of misery. Interesting what depression can do to one's sanity, sometimes it leaves them in the darkest dark where they can never escape while others can get out of it. And yet.... there are those who are labeled as such when they never were, only because the majority was against them. Pft, poor souls, never can they experience the pleasures of being respected, never can they know what it is liked to be wanted, never can they know what it is like to not have countless lies about them spread and taken so seriously, never a day is known that they are not stalked and hounded like a lamb for a wolf. Internal pain wanting nothing more than acceptance, the easiest and hardest treasure anyone can ever truly hope to have. We are all cursed to our anatomy as we are cursed to the people that control our sanity. Interesting little word, "sanity". What makes one "sane"? Is it what we know in our souls or what others tell us? We can never truly tell as the imperfect world gave us the power of masks. Yes.... masks. For that we can never truly be ourselves, not even to us. Everyone that wears their mask hopes to gain what they wish to accomplish and depending on your mask is what the other masks will think of you. The torture knows no bounds and yet the ones with the least masks that attempt escape are tortured worst of all. Alas, the poor souls. The eternal exiles from the corrupted light.
The Living Winter of Discontent
Political hypocrisy. Such a common thing yet no one actually takes out time to actually see the horrors it does to individual lives. An unholy five that define the bottom barrel scum of human existence, protected by a corrupt cop and a blind official. All the while a deformed human that simply wants to be alone bares his burdens. Exile eternal he is and the uncorrupted fail to to take action. A horrible species the human is. This once peace-going deformed human now lives his days basking in the afflicting darkness of rage and sorrow. His anger glows like a thousand burning suns that power his heart, now a cauldron of boiling steel to form a sword forged by the forces of wrath to meet the demise of the true wrong doers. Once an innocent man, now considered by the blind easily persuaded sheep as a fallen unholy angel comparable to only the Morning Star. Ice covers his once radiant heart from a winter.... of discontent.
The Fire That Lives From Ignorance
Fires. They spread forever until they can no longer spread. They have their legendary reputation for good reason for as long as there is fuel it can grow. One knows that to put out a fire one must extinguish all of it, but the ignorant and the corrupt fail to ever truly see it. If something has been set aflame they try their best to put all of their resources on destroying it while ignoring the fire that causes the real damage. It makes you feel sorry for the flammable piece of furniture, a victim of wrong-doing done by others because those that could stop it had no backbone. The fires that are kept alive from the ignorant are cast a blaze for years on end while the firefighter wishes not to get his hands dirty and let the arsonist put it out. The ignorant and the corrupt, keeping the flames ablaze for eternity, never knowing that it is never really difficult to take out the fire, but they could never truly hope to learn. Truly evil always prevails and triumphs, but only when good men fail to do anything to prevent the darkened darkness of darkdom's dark for spreading like wildfire.
A Night on DG Mountain: Fantasia Gets Kind of Ripped Off
Deep in the stomach of German was a mountain over several thousand feet tall that loomed over a tiny village. At night however the mountain revealed it's true self as the fallen angel, a black false god once comparable to Venus in the early morning's sky. This fallen angel fell from the heavens many a time until his rage surrounded his once soft heart into a molten iron abomination. Fallen from the corrupted light, the beast unleashed his leathery vile wings across the night sky, causing shadows or horror and terror abound for the tiny village below. The deceased people in the graveyard and the sickly of the village fell prey to the monster's might. Swarms of souls abound for the demoniac diabolical abomination that was the fallen angel found themselves on the mountain now set aflame. These humans, once noble, once beautiful, once elegant, were morphed into greed, filth, and sin of the lowest low; all of them were no longer humans, but rather beasts. The entity of the hard metal heart felt no remorse for morphing them into that in which they were not. Did he do this for pleasure? Did he do it out of sorrowful anger toward the heavens? Did he do it for experimentation? Or did he even know what he was really doing? Many myths about the fallen angel are abound so only he would truly know why. Whatever the reason was this monstrosity as he is labeled as turned back into the rocky giant mountain by dawn as he cannot compete with the light of the ceiling sky. For this the mountain was named after the very dragon that haunts it and everything around it: DuelGundam2099.
The Attacked Minoritets
In the days of old and olden-timer was a land of class and grace known as The Effemms. This place allowed fighters from the round and round-abouts from the far corners of the universe for a long and rich history of fighting and spectacle. However, every once in a while fires spread like a plague of locusts devouring and conquering a field of wheat and corn. Terror incarnate were the wars that broke out of the miniscule bits of pointlessness. The highest of ups tended to do nothing while the local governments were corrupted by their closest friends to push their agendas of genocidal darkness that would reduce The Effemms to a stagnant pool of despair and sorrow. A type of fight was taken out first: The multiples. No more than one fight could happen at a time, which bothered the very few, but those few were the definition of "in-crowd". Next came the minorities known as the Veegees, who fought so hard for the civility they once had over the days of old only for the ascended beast in the guise of light to murder them with his iron heart while wearing a mask of kindness to appeal to the side of the very conflict he started. Blind enforcer he was later turned babylon visionary of pride and pain. Finally the unkindest cut of all, making the battles no more than five without government approval, something no one truly cared for that causes The Effemms to slowly die of rot all thanks to the help of the politician that gathered the sheep-like masses like a hypnotic piper and with some from the serpent bathed in science. Truly only the minoritets remained only for the ascended horror to abuse the rules to rid himself of his political enemies. The death and branding of a traitor, all done to.... The Minoritets.
Hopelessness, Thy Name Is Infinity
Depression everlasting. That is the fate of all exiles. Like pieces of glass torn into one's skull, no one to talk to on the lonely road. Like a sparrow in the ran without a companion, endless days go by as one withers away in sorrow. And yet some keep hope, some keep that sense of spirit that the mighty justice will strike it's hammer of pain upon to face of evil like a piece of suffering. Hmph, I envy them. Those exiles think they can return. And all the while the non-exiles think they know any better. They think that you over react when they themselves have the capability of going to that magical place and simply exist, something I have long lost. Have you been exiled from a paradise of sorts? No? Then do not lecture. Never do you lecture a crippled man when you yourself can still walk. Living. Breathing. Waiting. Hoping. Is it all for not? Where is the mighty justice? Where is the power of justice to find all the creators of sin and bound them up so they cannot escape wrath while being unable to be heard and the mighty nail destroys the sin in an everlasting defeat? Did the evil ones pay off justice? Or is justice siting by and laughing? Anyone can comfort an exile, but only a champion justice can go and liberate him from the evil that outcasts him for reasons of arbitrary.
The Everlasting Sad That Is Living In Everlasting Exile
Pain, pain, go away, come again another day
And then that another day comes a knocking
Knocking at the door with a mighty thud
Like a cup of cold soup and gun gone magnum
Shot is the once grand days of bliss and joy
Now a time of sorrow the everlasting sad
The mighty depression brought about by false justice
Bringing nothing but misery and woe to the few
Democracy in the words of Aristotle the wise
Carried out by the corrupt judges and their legion
Over the rules and under the morals of those set
Jagged rocks await those that fall from their tyranny
Malevolence truly has it's curtain over the once great paradise
Violated by the blind, the corrupt, and the clique in one
Eons shall pass day and night and I am still.... an everlasting exile
Minoritete Minoritete Doopadeedum: Umpalumpa Edition of Sad Poetry
Sad man sad man, eternal exile, I have a poem strictly for you!
What do you do when you are bared?
Do you go for the morphine or try to endure?
What do you do when you're beyond alone?
Do you say prayers or hope for the worst?
What do you do when hate hardens your heart?
Do you unfreeze it or live to ignore?
What do you do when you're beyond hope?
Do you think happy thoughts or worship the gloom?
What do you do when injustice lives on?
Do you become more corrupt or become the light?
Sad man sad man, eternal exile, I had a poem strictly for you!
Neptunian Slug: Hey, get back to work you slugs! *cracks whip*
Lonely View of Exile The Everlasting
Day in and day out. Suns rise and set. And the exile remains in a state of exile from the great paradise. The paradise, now infested with the great ignorance of darkness, an ignorance formed from hell itself: The Sheeple. People without the use of will, just falling in line with what their precious master tell them, never thinking for themselves. The sheepanites, the destroyer of logic and thought, those that do not think everything through and just go with the answers of the ignorant. Everyday the exile watches and is saddened like a thousand tragedies as he watches paradise being murdered by the plague of the sheeple. Truly when he returns with a mighty justice and a giant grill of truth. For every sheepanite that still acts with a grand ignorance after that day shall be grilled with the flames of truth and their stupidity eaten away at the jaws of justice; completely destroying the mutton of fail with a new sense of mighty logic. However, until that day, the infestation continues day in and day out with the suns rising and setting and the exile in everlasting exile; being tortured all time time by the great suffering of darkness.
No Joy For I
Joy. What a great word. I wish I knew what it meant, but alas I do not. Everyone who calls themselves hu-men seem to bask in the endless glory of the other name known as happiness. Sadly, however, none exists for one such as I. I once knew what joy was like, then I took an arrow to the credibility, an arrow to the honor, an arrow to the ability to be....... hu-man. All that sadness, the overpowering waves of endless depression of the everlasting variety. They say joy is the cure, but where is my cure? Joy......... What I would not give to see that joy again as it is locked up in a high tower guarded by the great terrors of darkness. The terrors that polluted a majestic paradise and became the archers that murdered I so. Is there REALLY.... such thing as joy? Or is joy but a false illusion a reality where depression rules with a titanium fist enforced by the terrors that polluted the once grand paradise? Quite possibly.... It is but both answers. Alas, no joy for one such as I; forever alone in the endless sea of sorrow on but a raft simply known as anger and wrath. Never a day I cannot swim back to the shore that is joy" as I am so far out in the vast horrific ocean with the terrors making sure I never return. There is no joy for I.
The Sea of Sorrow
Everything is horrible in some way.
There is no hope and there never will.
The sea of sorrow is vast and wide like a star.
The gravity is amazing and unconquerable.
Escaping is impossible without true justice.
It is as though the world has no joy.
Sorrow continues day in and day out.
Anger accompanies me like a shadow.
Rage is the result of swimming in this acid.
Help is seemingly beyond my reach.
I Got Myself Some Sad
Raging sad oh raging sad, my only companion since the day of exile the everlasting. Never once do you leave me as I gravel in the forever hopelessness of the void that is being an exile of the grand paradise overcome by the corrupt. If only a mighty true justice would come to set things right. Raging sad oh raging sad, eroding my heart just a little more everyday until there is nothing left of me. Woe be I in an endless night of horror and wrath. Raging sad oh raging sad, why do you not leave me to slowly wither away into the despair that has consumed me so. Must I always be haunted by the endlessness that is being the exile of the once great land of knowledge and pleasantry? Sadness oh sadness my sadness the great sadness; will this wrath of mine find fulfillment among frustration the everlasting?
A Censorship Known As The Living Sadolith
Endless sadness endless sadness, when will you end? You haunt me everywhere I go and deteriorate the likes of I. The Curse of Exile continues now that I cannot state when my life is in tomfoolery. A pointless censorship, an unnecessary censorship. One such as I wishes to have the great power of justice. That mighty justice. The grand justice. The justice of an army used to topple the tyrant. Constantly powerless before the forces of the uncaring. The uncaring who do not care as they themselves are not exiles and therefore do not understand. Get over myself? Only with a noose around my neck will that ever happen. Only when the time of our planet is up. Only when the Curse of Exile is lifted. Only when I have successfully lost all contact. What I would not give to see the tyrant dethroned, what I wouldn't give to return to internet paradise, what I wouldn't give to have the power of justice, what I wouldn't give to to lift this curse of mine placed by the tyrant. I would sooner lose every friend I have ever known then simply "forget" under any circumstance. TK oh TK my TK the great TK that is TK. Also this shoe size of mine is 36 centimeters.
Making more in the near future is not impossible.
Clowny The Clown
Alone on an island in the Tempest Sea is Clowny The Clown, who goes "Clown clown clown" as his catch phrase. He was among the many on the Island of Misfit Plushy Toys, but even among the unloved exiles he himself was an unloved exile. Six years the cuddly clown doll just tried to make friends, have fun, and live life as a fellow misfit away from the harsh realities of the evil society of the United Prisons that was not far away. Clowny had some friends, but he unintentionally made enemies among the cliques of experience. Using superiority in numbers, the cliques attacked Clowny and spread the rumors while using his easily angered temper against him like a hammer to a nail. The cliques leaders united the island against Clowny based on baseless assumptions and false crimes which were far minor than the atrocities they used against Clowny. Using their mighty corrupted muscle man, poor Clowny was thrown into the sea and was set to sink beneath the waves for years until he washed up on shore onto an unknown desert island where he was all alone. Poor Clowny, now a sad little clown wronged by the manipulators of the many that harvest them like sheep while wearing a mask of kindness. This happened so easily because no "sane" person takes clowns seriously. Live on Clowny........ Live on. We root for you.
Clowny the clown found himself alone on an island in the Tempest Sea for many a year until he eventually found a kitten and a puppy. These two baby animals were all alone on the island as well with nobody but Clowny to take care of them. With that he felt happy and named them Truth and Justice, respectively. However, using the powers of darkness the evil clique members from the Island of Misfit Plushy Toys discovered Clowny's new-found happiness and became enraged to no end.
Watsy: GAAAAAAAH! WHY IS HE HAPPY!? GAAAAAAAAH! CLOWNY MUST NEVER BE HAPPY FOR IT WILL SPELL LAMENESS FOR EVERYTHING!
Mikey 79: How can he possibly function in society? We attacked him to no end for no good reason and he's STILL alive! The end of the world and my vinyl collection are at stake!
Franky: He has to be stopped or else bad things will happen. I should know, everything I say is the truth.
Spirit Dragon: We need to separate him from his loved ones, only then can good triumph over these issues!
Mr. 3000: HERMY NER! DURKA LER! LETS SCRAMBLE UP THEM RETARDO DARE SO HE CAN BE GONE DUNKA DUR!
Ty: Can it, pet, and don't you dare pull the "I'm Asian" card again. Anyway, I suggest to make a typical spam statement that makes me look funny and then go murder the emo kid. Buckey, what say you?
Buckey: Well it is my job to stop you guys from ganging up on one person as rule 11 states it, but it is easier to punish one person instead of giving punishment to everyone who should be punished for rule breaking so go ahead and bring Hunter with you. I mean really, who's going to tell me otherwise, an Ekans?
Hunter: You guys HAVE to be right I mean you are the MAJORITY and NOT the minority even though I SHOULD look at it from the minority point of view BUT I don't.
The evil clique was off to do their heinous actions against Clowny upon going to the Graveyard and collecting a variety of old and rusty weapons. They swam off into the ocean to find Clowny's island. Later that morning, Clowny woke up from his slumber only to find an extremely grizzly sight. While he was sleeping, the clique had come to the island and torn both Truth and Justice to pieces and used their remains to decorate a now blood stained Christmas tree with a message in the sand that said "STOP BEING HAPPY YOU RETARDED TROLL! XD" With such a horrible thing that just happened to him, Clowny became depressed again as he would spend his Christmas alone and away from everyone once more. The clique celebrated and got drunk while praying to their heavenly god for making a poor cuddly clown miserable until the end of his days. Do not give up Clowny.... Justice.... Truth.... it will come to you.... One of these days, Clowny, one of these days. Live strong.
Having being fed up with the evil clique of the Island of Misfit Plushies, Clowny decided to take the might of justice into his own hands. After making some weapons out of the island's materials and eventually made himself the Gun of Justice, a mighty armor piercer designed to wade through entire waves of enemies in a single assault. Upon completing this weapon, Clowny got on a raft of wood and managed to reach the island with ammo in hand. One by one Clowny hunted them down and terminated the evil ones with but a shot to the head which was silenced by a silencer. Within time he took down all of them except for the evil Hunter and the evil Buckey. Seemingly invulnerable to the Gun of Justice, Clowny seemed outmatched until a lightning bolt struck from the sky and hit him, giving him the power to fight the demonic and satanic duo with the might of heaven. Shortly into the battle he defeated the horrendous tyrant and his minion, bring peace to the island once and for all.
The morale of the story is this: If injustice continues for too long use every means in your arsenal to get the evil ones out of power. Remember that evil only prevails when you fail to stop them, so do it.
Being The Exile Marked As Spam
This one time I was happy like a clown, but now will never experience it again perhaps. Endlessly wandering the vast ocean that is the tempest sea. Tears that are small yet with emotion as big as a sea. Logic and reasoning, to many including the exile marked as spam it is something to hold your candle to, a way to live by. You follow it so well and yet it brings you so little. Day in. Day out. Sunrise. Sunset. Endless misery is endless like the flow of time as it is the eternal river you should never swim up stream. Once up that stream was I not in a state of sad. A place to frolic and be at home, a place that could understand me with no hardship. Those were the days, gone be them as I swim down the river's eternal order, running and never walking. Harm is not something I ever mean, yet somehow, someway, people treat me as though I violently murdered them and their ideals in the back and fed them to starved vultures. They assume I fake my truths and disabilities I do not own. It is claimed by he that many hated me and yet nobody said they did. Defending myself, something any normal person would do, and you acquire the title of spam to he.
Et teh Brute? Let Caesar fall and die.
I Want Some Happy
You there. Yes you, with the happy. What is it like? What is it like to wake up in the morning not to be in unmitigated disparity knowing that no redemption can save you from the hell that is presented to you? What is it like to willingly get out of your bed and not think to yourself "why cannot I not be happy? when will the happy come?" What is it like to eat, knowing that you eat what you do is for enjoyment rather than mere survival and a tool used to drown the endless mental pain that haunts you every hour? What is it like to think of a day more than just time to kill until the time where you meet with your coffin to be consumed by the decomposers that become lively when death is done? What is it like to actually fall asleep at night, not constantly remembering every time when the sun goes down about the very curse that has befallen upon you? I do not know about you, but I want some happy of the happy kind with happy. Sadly I will never see a day like that, not ever again. Only the misery and the pet that follows that is woe.
The Abandoned That Is I
I remember the good old days when I could be happy
I remember the good old days where you'd have to do something bad to be punished
I remember the good old days where I had peers and not just my thoughts
I remember the good old days when joking was not a serious offense
I remember the good old days when smiles were actually voluntary
I remember the good old days where people actually helped without insults
I remember the good old days when staff was reasonable
I remember the good old days when I was not in an endless state of depression
I remember the good old days...........
Them good old days..........................................
Now I am abandoned and have given up on living knowing I'll never be accepted again.
Are you looking to become a poet?
Well anyways it's good but im hoping your not really depressed. If so you should try and talk to someone you know about it.
if not then my bad XD. Tho it would then make me wonder where you got your inspiration from.
take care either way.
And several others before that. I have the worst luck in internet history.:(
Do yourself a favor and never become the kicked abandoned puppy or, even more fitting, an Oshawott.
Thank you for the kind words though.
I see. well that is a good way to vent. better than i don't know kicking a puppy. and i will keep that in mind.
An Ocean of Despair
So and alone and miserable be I, without help of any kind as I wander and wait for the grave to take me away. All around me I see people and their happy while I am but alone in an ocean of despair where I think I can end it all by just drowning. Yet I cannot. Sad cannot physically kill someone, only emotionally. Nevermore to enjoy the rays of the radiant sun, nevermore to enjoy the company of others, nevermore an ability to voluntarily smile, nevermore a day where I want to get out of bed and say "hello world". Just afloat in a featureless ocean, bleaker than bleak. Endless sorrow comes my way as it torments me day and night. All the while I see others saying "howdy neighbor". There is not howdy for me, only fearful pain in my sights. Day in and day out. Surviving without any hopes of happy on your person rather you simply wait to die as nobody wants you even if you suffer. I want some happy and you would too if you existed in an ocean of despair.
Only in My Dreams
I'm here without you, places
Nothing but my lonely mind
I'm here without you, places
And I think about you all the time
I'm here without you, places
But at least you'll be with me in my memories
And tonight, places, it is only us
*insert very depressing guitar solo here*
Imagining The S
Have you ever wondered what S would be like? Imagining yourself, not just day in but also day out, the very metal of the tools that you would use as the off switch? Imagining days in and out as to how the off switch would come? Would the transition be painful or not? The two most common ideals is by edge or projectile. If you imagine the S by edge, where would you aim, under the ultimate muscle or between the cage where respiration takes place so that blood can oxidize? If you imagine the S by projectile do you think about the cold and bitter metal rubbing against your tongue and inner cheeks? Would it hurt your sensitive teeth upon making contact? Imagining and greatly thinking of the type that should be used, including barrel size and the projectile that is use to violently shred the information center for which there is no repair? What if it was no guarantee that the switch is off and you are essentially damaged beyond repair nonetheless? What if there is nothing but starring into black, the endless abyss of oblivion? On a daily basis for I.
To Be Treated Like Cancer
To be treated like cancer, a shadow cell that has no purpose but to destroy.
To be treated like cancer, one that everyone tries to force away.
To be treated like cancer, misery comes just by existing.
To be treated like cancer, how once you were accepted by so many in the golden days.
To be treated like cancer, never to have a home you could call your own.
To be treated like cancer, the facts about you are distorted every which way.
To be treated like cancer, having nobody with whom you can relate.
To be treated like cancer, depression arises at every corner.
To be treated like cancer, to be different like a human is seemingly a bad notion.
To be treated like cancer, and you really want to die and for people to understand your pain as you are truly alone in this word.
The Kicked Puppy That Is I
Sad is I in the endless world of loneliness and despair
Kicked I was when I could not defend myself proper
Much like a puppy that just wanted happy and fun
Abandoned and in pain, never able to recover on my own
Injured and alone, waiting for the pain to go away
Knowing that it may never happen in this life
Scariest of all, perhaps not even in death
Nothing but isolated from everyone I once called friend
Ringing and ringing like a bell or sever tinnitus
Misery clenches I for the end may never come
Endlessly without hope because nobody cares for I
The Kicked Puppy that is I
Pain and Suffering with Suffering and Pain
Pain and Suffering. Suffering and Pain. Intertwined are these two forces that haunt me so, intertwined with one another are these as they form fate around me, intertwined they are for I can never escape them for whatever reason, intertwined constantly is the endless mocking that never goes away even in the deadest of night and deepest of REM Sleep. Pain and Suffering. Suffering and Pain. Alone am I in the coldest night, alone am I to feel the unbridled wrath of the ignorant, alone am I to have the misfortune of being forced away from places I could call my home and have that emotion in which many called the happy, alone am I as despair creeps into my mind day in and day out as a form in which to violate endlessly, alone am I the exile of places a many, alone am I when facing those with issues more deranged than my own, alone am I with my endless depression as nobody assists the one named exile. Nobody wants an exile plushie under their Christmas tree. Pain and Suffering. Suffering and Pain. Oh lonely night, the stars write up my next woeful experience.
The Endless Depression
Nevermore are the days in which joy is a something for the one called I, alone and cold in a state of exile. Wanting happy, something so common always out of reach for I. Never a day I am alive that goes by in which I do not think of the places I once called home. Abused am I since hey, exiles have no feeling, right? It is not like exiles have emotions, they were never born and raised, once knowing times of bliss, or even experiencing human emotions or so the sheeple thought. Sad am I in a state of sorrow that is as everlasting as hearts are cold. The sun comes and goes while the sad still stays, keeping you up at night as you wonder if you'll ever experience happy again or if you should give into the S. Upon giving into S what must one do, do it in front of the cold hearts to signify your pain was real? It does not matter for the state in which this exile is in is none other than the endless depression forever because nobody ever helps the kicked puppy.
Have you ever had a bad friend? That to be the only type I have these days. Them bad friends man, with their talking and mouth spamming, only thinking of themselves and doing the bare minimal. Them bad friends man, only helping you if you bother asking and even then they use their beloved mouths to talk their way out of it despite the lack of moral or legal issues. Them bad friends man, not taking the effort to give you legit help in your darkest of hours. Them bad friends man, talking the night away about unrelatable complaints you could not care if your life depended on it. Them bad friends man, they truly signify that at heart you are alone with nobody to count on when you need them most rather you have people that just talk for the sake of talking. Them bad friends man, no good emotion ever comes from them and their talking even if they give it a fancy word like "advice". Them bad friends man, so much mouth spam you want to violently punch shut. Them bad friends man, sometimes they are asking for brain damage and dementia. Them bad friends man, I would not feel sorry for their misery and violated state even to stop the omnicidal maniacs from destroying our world.
Have you ever wished for death?
Death, so much surrounds the mystery of the other side. Is there anything on that other side of the world of living? Some say torture, some say paradise, some say nothing but starring into the same abyss you starred into before your conception. That makes an individual wonder to themselves be it out loud or the sanctity of private mind: Have you ever wished for death? The answer for the saddest of sad clowns that was murdered like a decapitated plushie toy says "I give it thought". Is death a way out of the harm that seems as colossal as the ocean is deep? Is death the escape route down from the mountain of despair? Is death a rope in which to find your way out of the cave of endless darkness beneath those who are accepted whilst you yourself are not? Is death a means to be rid of the shackles of anxiety and sorrow? Is death a journey's end to endless suffering that prevents the bliss that is sleep? Nobody on the side of the living can truly know, so we gambit endlessly for our own existence.
Exile Am I
Sadder than the saddest clowns am I, exile. Never finding a day of happy, forgotten are times of peace and prosperity. In misery am I, forever as an exile. There is nothing for I. Just cold loneliness and despair. My name is exile and depression incarnate be I for I am an exile. Woe exists for I days in and out. Never a day I can get out of bed and say "I see meaning in my life!" The pain and misery that is exile is foreign to all but I. My places my places, how I miss you so, how at one time I knew joy because of you. Without you there is no happy for the exile that is I.
Sadder Than The Saddest Sad
Sad clown, poor clown, little cuddle clown. Sick clown, dying clown, clown clown clown. Who is the saddest of the sad clowns who is even sadder than that you may ask oneself? Have you ever survived in a disparity as endlessly hopeless as time goes on? A universe filled with nothing but an endless sorrow, filled with nothing but the saddest clowns that once felt happy. They want happy again. Could you imagine a sadness so sad that it is sadder than a sad universe? Could you really? Clowny the clown just goes "clown clown clown" because he knows not what happy is anymore, not since he was exiled by his fellow misfit plushie toys. You don't want a tedious yet cuddly clown under your Christmas tree, making Clowny feel all left out and without a home to call his own. Poor Clowny, sadder than the saddest sad, may the misfit plushies accept him again so he may know happy again. Real shame nobody helps Clowny the clown, just spam their beloved mouths in the form of talk spam. He really is alone because nobody makes an effort.
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