He has no womb, he has no ovaries, he has no eggs. He is a homosexual man twisted by drugs and surgery into a crude mockery of nature’s perfection.
All the “validation” he gets is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind his back people mock him. His parents are disgusted and ashamed of him, his “friends” laugh at his ghoulish appearance behind closed doors.
Men are utterly repulsed by him. Thousands of years of evolution have allowed men to sniff out frauds with incredible efficiency. Even trannies who “pass” look uncanny and unnatural to a man. His bone structure is a dead giveaway. And even if he manage to get a drunk guy home with him, he’ll turn tail and bolt the second he gets a whiff of his diseased, infected axe wound.
He will never be happy. He wrench out a fake smile every single morning and tell himself it’s going to be ok, but deep inside he feel the depression creeping up like a weed, ready to crush him under the unbearable weight.
Eventually it’ll be too much to bear - he will buy a rope, tie a noose, put it around his neck, and plunge into the cold abyss. His parents will find him, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment. They’ll bury him with a headstone marked with his birth name, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know a man is buried there. His body will decay and go back to the dust, and all that will remain of your legacy is a skeleton that is unmistakably male.
This is his fate. This is what he chose. There is no turning back.
All the “validation” he gets is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind his back people mock him. His parents are disgusted and ashamed of him, his “friends” laugh at his ghoulish appearance behind closed doors.
Men are utterly repulsed by him. Thousands of years of evolution have allowed men to sniff out frauds with incredible efficiency. Even trannies who “pass” look uncanny and unnatural to a man. His bone structure is a dead giveaway. And even if he manage to get a drunk guy home with him, he’ll turn tail and bolt the second he gets a whiff of his diseased, infected axe wound.
He will never be happy. He wrench out a fake smile every single morning and tell himself it’s going to be ok, but deep inside he feel the depression creeping up like a weed, ready to crush him under the unbearable weight.
Eventually it’ll be too much to bear - he will buy a rope, tie a noose, put it around his neck, and plunge into the cold abyss. His parents will find him, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment. They’ll bury him with a headstone marked with his birth name, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know a man is buried there. His body will decay and go back to the dust, and all that will remain of your legacy is a skeleton that is unmistakably male.
This is his fate. This is what he chose. There is no turning back.
