-------------------- He sits in darkness...licking wounds upon pale skin, the burdens of life given by society. He hates himself. Or the world. Maybe both. Hate is a word as strong as love. He says he loves, so he can definitely hate. Sadness makes him happy. Why? Because happiness bores him. The taste of tears is sweeter than the taste of a smile upon his lips. People surround him. But they are merely fading shadows; always more black than his own darkness. He feels alone, though he is not. He is quiet. Rarely saying a single word at school, or anywhere else. But sometimes he will speak...words of encouragement, words of love, words of serious issues...or just simple talk between friends. A hopeless romantic. Always tending to hearts...but more his own than any others; broken many, many times. Freak? Emo? Goth? Pathetic loser? These words make him smile. Insults...but they let him know that he is alive...that people acknowledge his existence; perhaps even the way that is most suitable to him. As you read this, you may not find this very amusing, you may call him "emo" or some silly word. That is okay. Bring him more darkness...that is the way he likes it. He hates cocky people. Those that think they are better than all, or are better than those who hate them. Take your words and read them over; people hate and their hatred does not make you a God. Better than me? Better than you? Ahaha...you amuse him.
from a friend
Twisted-Danceing-Corpse · Sun Sep 16, 2007 @ 06:43am · 0 Comments |