i do not wish you the sweet embrace of death. it is a lover far beyond your deserving, a kiss much too good for your filthy lips. i want you to keep taking steps on this horrid fucking earth. it was made for things like you, a place to suffer, and when we’ve all gone on to bliss, you’ll still be pounding the ground with your fists, begging for something more.
thanatos shall not lead you through the field of poppies. charon shall not accept your coin. our elysium is closing our eyes. your tartarus shall be every breath you take. you’ll continue to be alone as you ever were, not even majestic enough to be a wounded beast lashing out, but just a pathetic as-is, never to rot and return.
and so: i hope up you wake up every day to the sunlight. i hope that tea keeps you going. i hope your feet don’t give out. you were made for this. drink to your heart’s content and be merry, for mostly i hope you never have a grave for me to spit on, and that is the worst thing to wish upon anyone at all.