Rotten.

He is simply too morbidly self-centered to care about anyone but Trump.

Donald Trump has no capacity for being tender or gentle in times of crisis or tragedy, nor is he even remotely capable of the attempt.

Rotten.

He is simply too morbidly self-centered to care about anyone but Trump.

He is certain that his end is nigh and that he will be unmourned by anyone he actually thinks matters and so he has, in his waning time on this planet, chosen instead to become ubiquitous; bitching unceasingly about how unfairly he is treated, shredding our constitution, wrecking our government apparatus, verbalizing every vulgar thought, acting upon every malign impulse, hanging his picture everywhere, putting his face on our money, tearing down our White House, stealing everything he can, selling our birthright for scrap, enriching himself and his accomplices, and building monuments to himself like a weird, friendless child, scarring our field of vision with his tacky, twisted images of grandeur.

Rotten.

His every narcissistic attack on our nation is a trick of his feeble mind to gain some sort of immortality since he has lived a life made of nothing but pain caused, women abused, children predated, misery inflicted, and his desperate hustling for his one and only true love: money.

Rotten.

But it isn’t working. He is HATED. What he calls Trump Derangement Syndrome is simply the better world accurately responding to his lesser being. It is entirely his own doing and it is all he has.

Rotten.

And because the trolling value of being hated only lasts as long as the rush from a gum drop, he is forced to offend again and again, doling out more pain and abuse and predation and misery so he can feel something, anything at all. He has never invited the warmth of love so he must settle for cold attention. Then the buzz fades and once more the night creeps in around him, along with the knowledge that he is completely, utterly loathed and alone, and that morning may never come for him. He is more certain than anything that his last breath will be met not with grief, but with singing, dancing, and sighs of relief, and it is driving him ever more insane than he was the day before.

Rotten.

Donald Trump’s entire legacy will be reduced to his fantastical lies, myriad personality disorders, and crimes against humanity. All of his buildings will be defaced of his name or taken to rubble, and his bitter, miserable time on this planet will be held up as nothing more than an example of how NOT to live a life.

Prepare for the time after his rotten existence by making space for all of the love and beauty in your life and honor it by sharing it right now.

This is my reason for being. What’s yours?