Dank Harsh Pain Two

©2026 Steve Gray

The world is a rotting carcass, host to flickering parasites of “goodness” that are swiftly choked out by vast, weeping expanses of pure brutality. You don’t just fall; you are shattered. You crawl through the glass of your own existence, dragging a heavy, bloated corpse of guilt and angst behind you. The agony isn’t a phase; it’s a leech that drains you until your pulse finally surrenders to the frost of the grave. And believe me, the dirt seems already hungry for you.

People don’t just break; they fold like wet paper under the weight of a mystical void. They cave inward until there is nothing left but a hollow, screaming shell.

This suffering isn’t accidental. It is a calculated assault driven by the unholy trinity: Fear: A cold blade against the throat. Obligation: The iron chains of the dead. Guilt: The acid that dissolves the soul.

Your ethics? Pulverised. Your sense of right and wrong has been beaten into a fine, unrecognisable dust. You try to grasp at “facts” or “opinions,” but they are jagged shards of nonsense that cut your hands as you hold them. Nothing makes sense because sense is a lie told to the dying.

You stand paralysed, staring at the sky. Those bloated, indifferent clouds mock you. They don’t feel the rhythmic throb of traumatic stress; they don’t feel the teeth of the world sinking in. They just drift, mindless and serene, while you rot hopelessly in your skin.

Then comes the sickness: the ‘you’ watching ‘you.’ A fractured psyche peering into the abyss of its own reflection, wondering what went wrong. You try to let the ‘things of life’ wash over you, but it isn’t a cleansing rain; it’s sewage. In that suffocating moment of clarity, the truth hits like a hammer: You are powerless. Your reality has been twisted and transfigured by jagged, hateful forces that you can’t control, can’t stop, and are too small to ever truly comprehend. You are a plaything of the dark forces.

Is there an end? Was there ever a beginning? Or is this just a loop of screaming in the dark?

What happens next? Go ahead… choose. Not that it matters.