We spend our whole lives running from the issues we’ve faced since we were children. Trying to find some form of comfort, some type of retreat, there is a trauma within us that we need to meet. If left ignored it will continue to stew, like a stagnant infection that needs to get treated. An unwavering sensation of regret is the only thing we get accustomed to in our old age. Kiss our bald aging heads, as you slam the lids to our coffins. Have a kid, have two, let the process begin anew. Give him an A give her an F, cut your wrists until there’s nothing left. Finished at the head of your class? Good job son your reward is a living death. Consume and die consume and die, your god is money, here’s joy, in death.