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Selective Empathy

  A selective empathetic is a more sinister evil than the outright unempathetic. The unempathetic is quite small in numbers, and are under more scrutiny. The selective empathetic is one of reflective desire, picking and choosing those to be glad for and wishing to prosper based off of desired personal gain, gain that involves putting others down in the process. This level of empathy is pure submission to outside preachers, outside systems, media, literature, art, and economics, and represents a dark and fallible inner sense. Letting things simply happen, apathetic to their greater truth, nihilistic in meaning, and a walking product of guiding forces around them. A pure empathetic is empathetic to all in all situations, noticing the humanity in all. It is sad to notice the selective empathetic being a prevalent and lauded endeavor, when the qualities of such selective empathetic are thought of also as manipulation. A great contradiction in social morality and personal character judgeme

Glowing Red


Symbols, distance, far away was he.

Candles lit, on him a hit, boring was the wait alone.


Great was the day.

Lovely was the night.

Day after day, instances of fear in his operations.

Signaling the new world, constructed with rickety wood, nails bent to the surface, and tape around his mind keeping it locked behind regulation.


Crushed was his soul, the day after his mother's death was the day he would have regretted being so closed.

Being open wasn't an option. It wasn't there when he looked to the right as his soul danced to the song of the world, he lay his head down in shame. Abused by his own head, giving, after all, his life away to the majestic taunts of skulls and crushing bones, he lay on his back looking to the ceiling.

"How does life accrue in such deadly ways?" , he would ask himself. The answer lies before him, but he hadn't wanted to face it.

Creamy suds, the midnight duds, and creating a distant world for himself, passing out with his own despair, he followed his urges.

Society did this right. Society did this right?! Why must we blame ourselves for the fault of others? Creating a light in the tunnel, the beer falls through a funnel, depressed motion for the last time. Sobriety lie? Or do the innards of such descriptors live with conclusions? Evidence be doubted, rationality a fool, crevasses drool with waters along the side. Nature living with dust, midday sun arose and peaking through the velvet rancid must of the death he saw again. A lying rodent on the road, so lifeless and cold, begone love in his thoughts, he rearranged his pots to cook a meal. 


Again, Society's light shines in his grill. He couldn't be still, there's work to do. But above the shadows of indescribable worth, the bedrock of processes drift into oblivion as the last cloud arose.


Death be told.

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