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Blessed are the stupid. The utterly mediocre and blissfully shallow, whose days revolve around petty pop culture issues and which girl in the club they’ll fuck tonight.

Cursed are us the outcasts. The open minds and souls whose empathy runs deeper than a well. We see the polluted smoke of poverty, the aching futility of hope. Those who see past the social games, booze, and small talk. Who feel the loneliness of a thousand universes darkening inside of us.

We remember and feel each heart ache, each pain, each bad memory, and each disappointing thought. Our existence passes by so slowly. How sad it is to live in a world consumed by our own sadness.

Cursed are us, the solitary, the invisible, the unloved, whose eyes are open to see life for how it really is. We, us, who feel everything, though we are nothing at the same time.

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