This Stinks

Ever smell anything like this? It's a rancid, crawling tar that forces itself down your windpipe and epoxifies your lungs. People try to mask the odour, with the funk of copulation, that new car smell, the sickening sweetness of some bubblegum aural pollution, the narcotic incense of the divine. But a black dog in a white mask isn't white. You mask the stench, but it crawls back into you when you're alone with your thoughts, if you haven't already discarded your ability to think to evade the stench. It comes when you dwell on your failures, when you think of the past, the future, life, death, the world yourself, and how it fits together. It grows so pungent it can make you ill. You've either caught a whiff of it, or you've drowned yourself in bullshit before you got the chance.

Angst gets me so hard.