There Is No Happy Here
Yesterday I was informed that I run an "adult" website. This was news to me.
It did not sink in until today. I awoke this morning and the world seemed different; tarnished and sullied somehow. But had the world changed, or was I viewing it through changed and blasphemus eyes?
I now suspect the latter. Nay, I know the latter. My soul is corrupt. Stained. Ruined. Existence has taken on the sickly hue of a smokers' yellowed wallpaper.
Glances from strangers that seemed innocent and friendly yesterday now seem to be saying begone, foul pornographer. We have no love of your filthy kind. The very ground I walk on seems to recoil from and be descecrated by my presence.
I sit alone in my darkened room as I type this. The sunlight seems a symbol of all that is good and pure, painful and maddening to one as impure and wretched such as I. As my blackened and leathery hands clutch the revolver and a bottle of cheap bourbon in their gnarled, talon-like grasp, I wonder if there is enough good left in me to end it all and rid the world of the cancer I have wrought. The cancer I have become.
The path of n00dz ends in madness.
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