It wasn’t the best of times it was the worst of times: Golden Words is fucking done. It’s worse than the time that guy shit himself non-stop. It’s worse than when you got so drunk you vomited so hard you can’t vomit anymore and continue to dry heave. Worse than when Lynrd Skynyrd tried to perform an acoustic set at a prison yard and were subsequently beaten to a pulp by 3950 pounds (and 13 consecutive life sentences) of maximum security inmates halfway through the solo of “Free as a Bird”. In case you’ve managed to get 8 pages through a newspaper without reading a single thing, Golden Words failed it’s referendum increase. We fucked up, I fucked up. I tried to express my despair, sorrow and frustration into words, but I fucking can’t. So I hired an arts student to help me write a poem about my feelings so I could better express them.
“A whimper breaks softly into the heartless cold night.
For what did we all struggle and fight,
Curled over in position fetal, I rest on my side,
Closing eyes, as tears well up but cannot hide,”
But he didn’t fucking finish because even he couldn’t properly articulate it. Halfway through his epic ballad he raised his eyes to the heavens, felt them well with the tears of frustration and the realisation that all his labour is for nought. Admittedly it occured to me that a third-year English major ought to have discovered existentialism but that’s beyond the point. We’ve passed the final frontier. We’re beyond the thin veil of fiscal stability. We’re past even renaming ourselves Silver Words to save three cents an issue on print costs, and I have no words left to describe it. Dare this simpering platitude leave my lips: I can’t even.
I sit sad and contemplative in my basement where sadness tucks me in like an itchy blanket, and my feet are still cold. You could have stopped this. We could have stopped this. Golden Words is fucking done. Shakily, I try to let my anger and rage rise up but all I’m left with is despair.
I still remember the first day I entered the gritty lounge, with my considerably smaller erection and heart. Making awkward small talk, but with our hearts as one.
It was nice while it lasted; my first year writing for Golden Words will also be my last. It’s like I’m back in first year again, I’m lost alone and friendless. Well, I hope you’re all happy with the choices you’ve made. You could’ve had the decency to also break what’s left of me, in person and scatter it to the winds. My hopes and dreams are truly broken now.