#like I KNOW I already wrote a poem about dean and vonnegut but LORD

[whatladybird]

ha. ha ha. why did I think me and my terminal dean winchester brain rot could read breakfast of champions by kurt vonnegut and not go immediately and totally insane? like this book is so unfairly and upsettingly AT dean and knowing that he probably read it and loved it when he was a teenager and then maybe revisited it after the apocalypse and just. died a little inside. no more escapism for you, dean. carver edlund called himself kilgore trout and he said only one man in this universe has free will and it isn’t you. bunny’s father said you can’t love men, only kill them. are you just a character in a book by somebody who wants to write about somebody who is suffering all the time? every time an angel asks you a question, some part of you screams “because I felt like it, you stupid machine”. you are here, you are here, you are here. dean winchester, are you kilgore trout or are you kazak the dog? do you want to kill your creator or run from him? who do you hate more, your father for hurting you or your mother for leaving you? why can’t you get out? when will the snake stop swallowing itself? when will you make order of chaos? when will you get better?