The World’s a Goddamn Mess, and You’re It

by: E.M. Burlingame

The world’s a vast, ugly bastard, too big to wrap your head around, a snarl of streets and faces and schemes that stretch out forever. You’re stuck in it, squinting through the haze, trying to dodge the knives hidden in every handshake. It’s not just the seen that gets you—it’s the lies, the cons, the way everyone’s got an angle, ready to bleed you dry or shove you under just to climb a little higher. You can’t see it all, can’t know it all, and that’s the trap. You’ll fuck up. You’ll step in shit, from little slips to disasters that leave you gutted, and there’s no way around it. But you’ve got to clean it up, fast and straight, or it’ll cost you everything—your guts, your peace, maybe the whole stinking planet.

The Endless, Unseen Mess

It’s like standing at the edge of a black ocean, waves pounding, no end in sight. You can feel the weight of it, the pull, but you’ll never see the bottom. The world’s too wild, too deep, and you’re nothing—a speck bobbing on the surface, hoping the next swell doesn’t drown you. You try to chart it, to guess where the rocks are, but it’s a fool’s game. There’s always more you don’t know, more you can’t touch.

Wolves and Liars

Then there’s the people—grinning bastards with teeth sharpened on betrayal. They’ll slap your back and pick your pocket, sell you out for a nickel or just for the hell of it. Everyone’s playing, clawing for control, ready to break you to get it. Trust’s a rare bird, and you’re a damn idiot if you let it fly too often. But you need it, need someone to lean on, and that’s the rub—you’re walking a wire, vipers snapping below.

Mistakes, Big and Small

You’ll screw up. It’s baked into you, like sweat or hunger. Some mistakes are quiet—leaving the stove on, missing a bill. Others hit like a freight train—trusting the wrong son of a bitch, betting it all on a bad hand. You won’t see them coming half the time, stepping blind into the blast. Small or big, they’re yours, and they’re coming. No one gets out clean.

Fixing the Wreckage

When it happens, don’t sit there whining. Own it. The world doesn’t care about your tears, and neither should you. Stand up, shake off the blood, and patch the hole. It’s not pretty—sometimes it’s like stitching a wound with a rusty needle—but you do it. You fight the mess, even when it feels like shoveling sand against the tide. Leave it unfixed, and it festers, eats you alive until there’s nothing left but bones and bad memories.

The Price of Letting It Rot

Every wrong you ignore is a crack in the wall. One’s nothing, but they add up, and soon the whole damn thing’s crumbling. The flood comes—your life, your loves, all swept away in the muck. And it’s not just you. Your failures spread, tangle up with everyone else’s, pulling them down too. Enough of us let it slide, and the world’s done—washed out, gone. That’s the stake on the table.

Keep Moving, Damn It

So here you are, in this sprawling, cheating shitstorm, bound to stumble. But it’s not the fall that marks you—it’s the getting up. Fix your messes, learn the hard way, and keep walking. The other road’s just oblivion, and you aren’t enough to pay that tab.