I always wanted to create my own comic. However, with the future looking like it is, and my own talents in question, not to mention an already oversaturated market, I feel a little less then compitent. Outright fucking pipe dream even. Everything I did before was always more then satisfactory, but now, everything I want to do turns to shit before my eyes. This makes mealtime quite interesting indeed.
My family is either dying, being jailed, or being ridiculed and backstabbed at work right and left, and nearly everyone I thought was a friend is turning out to be nothing more than a rat bastard. Why should I try to make friends when all they will do is dust a spot off my back and take aim? Why should I even trust? Every person I meet now is just another I wish would either leave me alone or die.
And yet, the foolishness of youth keeps giving me false hope. Maybe this person will be different. Maybe you won't totally fuck up this little bit of pretty you're trying to make. And every time I get empty words and another broken pencil to show for my effort. Maybe I should just sweep floors.
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