Spoon this b*tch...

Writing is my own personal therapy, it's like masturbating all of your ideas into text. Ideas and thoughts of absolutely random things that cross my mind, which are represented by the words I view as sperm. I think writing is a chastity to my hate and anger. My selflessness is all taken apart by my every written word. I'm able to analyze and comprehend myself to see that I'm the true villain and everyone else is a hero that I try so desperately to become or beat.

It's like you're battling the world because everyone notices you're out of the norm, but really you're just trying to get by. Could it be that we're all becoming so different between one another that we've lost touch with each other?

Hate, such a strong and undesirable word. What do I hate? So much or so little? My hate ranges from the smallest to the biggest things. It's annoyance that triggers the hate.

People who see life as if they're immortal, those born with a silver fucking spoon up their ass, as if they were kings or queens. Those who don't realize that there is more trouble in this world than what they make it out to be. These people are sheltered by their walls, their plasma tv's their myspace's and facebook's, their iphone's. They expect everyone to yield before them because they were born into privilege. When you're spoken too, you're only worth a conversation of sarcasm or words that will only patronize you.

Have they any idea of what lies in this world? What evils destroy men and rape women in poor wholesome villages. No, they don't because they're too busy building their lives up more and more unable to just settle for a smile or a hug. They want things they don't need, they find themselves trying their hardest to prove something to someone. They have everything, yet they are nothing...

"Blah.." - Ryan