Honestly…

I wake without expectation, because expectation is a lie told to soften decay.

The world does not greet me, it tolerates me.

Nothing arrives with purpose, only momentum and rot.

What people call meaning is just habit stretched thin and thinner.

I no longer look for mercy in outcomes.

Life throws its scraps with the same indifference it shows to breath and bone.

I move through abandoned hours, alert only enough to survive.

I walk through Trickster streets and whatever else life discards my way.

Pain does not teach, it simply repeats until something breaks.

Hope is a trick played by the desperate to delay surrender.

There is no arc, no redemption, only continuation.

I take what I must, not because it matters, but because I am still here.

When this ends, it will not be remembered, and that may be the most honest truth of all.