Exhausted by others' gravity affecting my orbit, and irritated by the worrisome gnaw that my own gravity can push against your axis as well, affecting yaw and pitch and leaving your wax wings melting as your heavenly body is suddenly much too close to that ruthless sun. I'm not going to worry about it any longer. We've all been given the same options, the same chances, the same devices, and we are our own responsibility. I have total faith in the human race and their ability to overcome all adversity and transgression, no matter how petty or pulverizing (despite everyone's daily attempts to sway my judgment otherwise), and if you allow yourself to be defeated by nothing but imagination and emotionalism, it's no one's fault but your own. Come on now, we can get through this together or alone. I think I may be addressing no one but myself.
It feels like I'm decorating a turtle shell, like hanging posters inside of a fallout shelter, paying no heed to the horrors that will propel me to seek shelter within but instead looking forward to the day it will finally be my home to call a home. And I will sit, silent and alone, and watch the nuclear glow seep around the door stop, and the first breath I take will be the first breath I take, reborn, and the last breath I take, stillborn, and I will exist in that singular breath for a beautiful, infinite, and tranquil moment of first and final liberation.