DOGDAMN

Everything is convenient now.
Everything is a lie, even the numbness.
Even the quiet acceptance that this is just how it is.

Somewhere along the way, we did the same to ourselves.
Cut down what we feel. Trim the edges.
Pack it tight so it looks clean from the outside.
Something presentable. Something that lasts.

But nothing inside here was ever meant to last like this.

Dog damn it.
This isn’t anger.
This is a pile of dog shit.

This is the moment you realize you’ve been fed something your whole life and called it normal.