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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.
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