- Local time
- Today 12:27 PM
- Messages
- 650
- Pronouns
- Your/Majesty
Stuck here again. With them.
If only they weren't so fucking useless.
It isn't the first time. It won't be the last. I loathe every time, every agonising moment, every god-awful minute.
I can't stand to be around them. I don't know how anyone can. They claim to have friends, but I know they're a liar.
They're so pathetic. Not a single person in this whole universe gives a damn about them.
I dare to raise my eyes and try to muster a feeble smile. In return? A smarmy grin that I can see right through; it makes them look brain dead. Naive. Gullible. Fool.
Fucking idiot. I've never known someone quite so stupid. Someone so utterly embarrassing. Every time they open their mouth, every time some insipid thought dribbles forth, I cringe.
Sometimes, I think, they'd be better off dead. It's not like anyone would miss them. At least, then, they could be, for the first time in their pitiful life, useful. Assuming anyone wanted those shitty organs, anyway.
But they can't even die properly. I know. I've tried. Tried to kill them, but at the last moment they have called out for help. Couldn't do the world that one favour. No, instead they had to live.
Not that they have anything worth living for.
They're deplorable. They're morally bankrupt. They think they're a good person, but I know their truth. Everyone around them does. Their guilt festers around them like rot. It's impossible to be around them and not just... Know. Sense that depravity barely hidden beneath a veil of deceit and deception.
I feel my fingers curl into a fist. I cannot take it anymore. I cannot look at that damn face any longer. That face that deserves a beating - it wouldn't be any uglier for it, either. The longer I stare, the more the rage floods me.
A crash.
Knuckles collide, red blooms, silver cascades.
The mirror shatters.
The self loathing does not.
If only they weren't so fucking useless.
It isn't the first time. It won't be the last. I loathe every time, every agonising moment, every god-awful minute.
I can't stand to be around them. I don't know how anyone can. They claim to have friends, but I know they're a liar.
They're so pathetic. Not a single person in this whole universe gives a damn about them.
I dare to raise my eyes and try to muster a feeble smile. In return? A smarmy grin that I can see right through; it makes them look brain dead. Naive. Gullible. Fool.
Fucking idiot. I've never known someone quite so stupid. Someone so utterly embarrassing. Every time they open their mouth, every time some insipid thought dribbles forth, I cringe.
Sometimes, I think, they'd be better off dead. It's not like anyone would miss them. At least, then, they could be, for the first time in their pitiful life, useful. Assuming anyone wanted those shitty organs, anyway.
But they can't even die properly. I know. I've tried. Tried to kill them, but at the last moment they have called out for help. Couldn't do the world that one favour. No, instead they had to live.
Not that they have anything worth living for.
They're deplorable. They're morally bankrupt. They think they're a good person, but I know their truth. Everyone around them does. Their guilt festers around them like rot. It's impossible to be around them and not just... Know. Sense that depravity barely hidden beneath a veil of deceit and deception.
I feel my fingers curl into a fist. I cannot take it anymore. I cannot look at that damn face any longer. That face that deserves a beating - it wouldn't be any uglier for it, either. The longer I stare, the more the rage floods me.
A crash.
Knuckles collide, red blooms, silver cascades.
The mirror shatters.
The self loathing does not.