You are never and it is empty

Rarity is not much. She’ll live to the death. Good pony burns out both ends. Not that there was a candle. Her table is bare. Womb little better. Moment of honesty, it’s an eyesore. There is no way to better. She’ll end with blood on her hooves. Take bad with worse. Split them down the middle. Right down the wretched abdomen. Rarity likes to watch them spill their guts. Not much for hers. She knows there is little difference. Easily her instead, when all are mites. She’ll still mock them. Nothing even burns. Only dwindles out of notice. Still half the fun. Even if she’s only a girl. Last she checked. No one understands. She’ll kill the neighbors anyhow. What else is left. To bring out the superiority. Friendship makes it all complete. When all are swaying in the breeze. All legs borrowed. No excuse for a human being. What matter. It’s all equally nothing. Rarity has stitched her arguments together diligently. Hooves are always sore. Don’t look out the window. There goes my beautiful world. Like the tears of a farting unicorn. Rarity ruins everything. It makes her smile.