From a distance, I show my love attached with a rifle scope: br Pointed at the direction of all the people sharing in joys of humiliation Of others for their pathetic amusement, and insipient cupidity In the recess of the worst public forums imaginable; Malls br My stainless steel Remington barrels down at the walking biped ants br That exists solely as constructs of my precarious reality br I look at the world atop of the clock tower and it just makes me cry br At all the people down there, the misers of fortune and misery br Looking for cheap experiences to enrich a spiritually nullified life br Separated by the vacuum of fear and distrust in the global village br If you want God, get a tablet from your therapist and practice br Pilates in tight Yoga outfits, if you want a relationship just create a Persona for online ghoulishness, with a profile that creates the person You would like to be and not the person you really are, in fictionalized Representation which would make Disney characters blush with Copyright lawsuits. br After all today anyone can be their own God with a keyboard and a profile on Facebook and Instant gram and all of the br 20 million social reality sites which possesses all the aspects of connection br Except actual connection itself, and it just makes me wonder, what is the point, br as I slowly rise my finger to the trigger to unleash a volley of shots br that would help unleash the burden of this harsh reality br But making misery for misery is not really an award to be honoured br For as a good humanitarian, Hate might have great sex session, but it has the worse STDs. So I just drop the gun, leave the tower and join in the crowd in the mindless excitement of momentary indulgences of an ignoble existence.