Sometimes I coast very, very highly off anger/hate. Unless I’m drinking I never feel much, but after major outbursts I feel euphoria. It’s like that crazy laughter brought on by staying awake far too long with a dispersal of something able to make the body shiver and quake in ecstasy.
Laud the sin and quench desire, a lapping tongue seeks outpouring of sympathy and understanding, as dogs will whilst cowering in the doorway. Meekly we die, roughly the same rate, but for reasons all our own. Meekly and weakly, purling bad decision into knit funeral shroud with nimble fingers aged by cigarettes and nervous wringing. The hate I thought I felt is not genuine, it is flawed, but maybe that’s the saving grace. I was not meant to hate things the way I do, the way an old senile man does, with only hatred discernible amongst ramble of injustice long since gone.
Fuck you, fuck your whining, sputtering god damn drivel. You have singlehandedly made me feel more putrid on a base level than anyone else has been able to achieve and yet you still seek to leech sympathy from so many others. Others stupid enough to offer up their condolences because living like a selfish little rat turns out to be lonesome. Well piss on me then because I know all about feeling like shit in general but to have been dropped from such a height, well Christ you know nothing of that
With as much raw emotion coursing through me now, I can’t bring myself to hate you. If anything, I hate myself more because of so many things beyond my control.