say what u want to say

You will never be a real woman. You have no womb, you have no ovaries, you have no eggs. You are a homosexual man twisted by drugs and surgery into a crude mockery of nature’s perfection.
All the “validation” you get is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your back people mock you. Your parents are disgusted and ashamed of you, your “friends” laugh at your ghoulish appearance behind closed doors.
Men are utterly repulsed by you. Thousands of years of evolution have allowed men to sniff out frauds with incredible efficiency. Even trannies who “pass” look uncanny and unnatural to a man. Your bone structure is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a drunk guy home with you, he’ll turn tail and bolt the second he gets a whiff of your diseased, infected axe wound.
You will never be happy. You wrench out a fake smile every single morning and tell yourself it’s going to be ok, but deep inside you feel the depression creeping up like a weed, ready to crush you under the unbearable weight.
Eventually it’ll be too much to bear - you’ll buy a rope, tie a noose, put it around your neck, and plunge into the cold abyss. Your parents will find you, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment. They’ll bury you with a headstone marked with your birth name, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know a man is buried there. Your body will decay and go back to the dust, and all that will remain of your legacy is a skeleton that is unmistakably male.
This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back.
 
If Null has a million fans i am one of them. If Null has ten fans i am one of them. If Null has one fan then that is me. If Null has no fans that is because i am no more on the Earth. If the world is against Null, i am against the world. I love Null until my last breath.
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Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
 
Nobody on the road
Nobody on the beach
I feel it in the air
The Kiwifarms out of reach
Empty chat, empty threads
The sun goes down alone
I'm driving by your Odysee
Though I know you're not home


But I can see you
Your brown fur shining in the sun
You got your hair combed back and your
Slobber on, baby
I can tell you, my cope for you will still be strong
After the boys of summer have gone


I never will forget those nights
I wonder if it was a dream
Remember how you made me crazy?
Remember how I made you sneed?
Now I don't understand what happened to our MATI
But babe, I'm gonna get you back
I'm going to show you what I'm made of


I can see you
Your brown fur shining in the sun
I see you buffering real slow and
Swearing at everyone
I can tell you, my cope for you will still be strong
After the boys of summer have gone


Out on the road today
I saw a Kiwi Cult sticker on a Rimac
A little voice inside my head said
“Don't look back, you can never look back”
I thought I knew what love was, what did I know?
Those days are gone forever
I should just let them go but...


I can see you
Your brown fur shining in the sun
You got the banner put up and the
Pizza open, baby
I can tell you, my cope for you will still be strong
After the boys of summer have gone
I can see you
Your brown fur shining in the sun
You got your hair slicked back and that
mic on mute, baby
I can tell you, my cope for you will still be strong
After the boys of summer have gone


Nobody will see this sheer autism if the FBI raid Null's servers like Bin Laden
 
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