As I wake up, I am ugly.
The mirror need not remind me, and the routine helps me forget.
As I commute, I am tired. ******* tired in fact.
My sleep was ugly.
The traffic need not remind me, and the work helps me forget.
I stop to rest, and I am ugly.
My lunch is warm, my uniform ill fits me, the people look through me, the sun beats down harder, I read on the news that hell futures are up, and that everyone is dead, and that we are ugly.
The news need not remind me, and the clouds help me forget.
The clouds are pretty, so so pretty today. The sun makes love to them, and I hate them.
The clouds don't need to sleep.
They don't get tired, they don't commute, they don't need money, they don't need to forget, and they are so so pretty.
I am not a cloud, and I feel ugly.
The work is "done" and you know how I feel.
You do not need reminding and I don't remember anything.
I am tired and hungry and poor and in hell and dead and all the ugly has blurred together and I am not a cloud.
And then the sun sets.
The sun sets and makes love with the clouds one last time.
How ******* romantic.
And they are so so pretty.
The water and gas and dust and the light all make love and gasp out blues and pinks and reds and golds so brazenly I wonder if they know I'm watching.
And for a moment I forget.
And for a moment I am reminded I am not ugly.
And for a moment I am full of blues and pinks and reds and golds and I am a cloud.
And I want to rain.
Because I am not ugly.
Because I am not ugly.
Because I am a ******* cloud and I want to be blue and pink and red and gold and I am not in hell.
And then it's over.
They never let me join. I am a voyer and I am ugly again.
I hate sunsets.
Apr 15
Apr 15, 2026 at 5:53 PM UTC
As I wake up, I am ugly.
The mirror need not remind me, and the routine helps me forget.
As I commute, I am tired. ******* tired in fact.
My sleep was ugly.
The traffic need not remind me, and the work helps me forget.
I stop to rest, and I am ugly.
My lunch is warm, my uniform ill fits me, the people look through me, the sun beats down harder, I read on the news that hell futures are up, and that everyone is dead, and that we are ugly.
The news need not remind me, and the clouds help me forget.
The clouds are pretty, so so pretty today. The sun makes love to them, and I hate them.
The clouds don't need to sleep.
They don't get tired, they don't commute, they don't need money, they don't need to forget, and they are so so pretty.
I am not a cloud, and I feel ugly.
The work is "done" and you know how I feel.
You do not need reminding and I don't remember anything.
I am tired and hungry and poor and in hell and dead and all the ugly has blurred together and I am not a cloud.
And then the sun sets.
The sun sets and makes love with the clouds one last time.
How ******* romantic.
And they are so so pretty.
The water and gas and dust and the light all make love and gasp out blues and pinks and reds and golds so brazenly I wonder if they know I'm watching.
And for a moment I forget.
And for a moment I am reminded I am not ugly.
And for a moment I am full of blues and pinks and reds and golds and I am a cloud.
And I want to rain.
Because I am not ugly.
Because I am not ugly.
Because I am a ******* cloud and I want to be blue and pink and red and gold and I am not in hell.
And then it's over.
They never let me join. I am a voyer and I am ugly again.
I hate sunsets.