Mr. 4chan’s bones— I can’t do it!

I’ve done everything you asked for:

 

I skipped the line at the death coaster;

I put a bloodied band-aid in the tip jar at the hotel bar;

I slept my way to the bottom and still made maximum;

I read Ezra Pound until I saw Greek on my computer keyboard;

I wrote my last letter to the company, and they didn't gaslight me;

I did one more round of cyanide BBQ for the guests;

I put on the mini-skirt and paraded around the corpses;

I spoke Japanese backwards to the football bobbleheads;

I played vaporwave at the parties, and no one ascended;

I uploaded a dream-synth edit of the Zapruder film to TikTok;

I used CNN as my alibi;

I cited God himself, Z U C C, in all my arguments;

​

and I still don’t hear you when I put my ear to my walls.

Why are you laughing, Mr. 4chan’s bones?