That billion dollars isn't going to drop out of the sky.
All you have is that electrical pain shooting up the back of your skull.
No miraculous omnipotence will manifest in you.
The festering decay in your jaw will eventually spur a stroke that annihilates all thought.
You will not discover
You will not invent
You can not hide
You can not obliterate every foe
You are not the champion
You are not the conquering hero
You are not the next big thing
Fanfuckingtastic! What are you trying to tell yourself? Or are you trying to tell somebody else? Who? Who the flying fuck is listening?
You're overcome with weakness and fear and dread and hate and intolerance and impatience.
Who is in control?
What happened to the "inner I" riding peacefully on?
You can't even be pathetic.
Close your eyes, let the horrors of who you are not torture you to sleep.
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