I don't think the way you do.
My mind wanders dark paths. Darker than your worst nightmares.
I can't explain it, but I feel like life is one big fucking joke, one big game; and I'm on the losing end. No matter what's going right for me, no matter what I'm doing that makes my life the amazing thing that it is, one thing holds true: It's currently never enough. I'm not good enough, no matter how hard I try. No matter how much you praise me, no matter how much you compliment me: you're wasting your breath. Don't even try.
The definition of misanthropy is, more or less: One who hates, despises, or does not trust humankind. This is what I feel. As a whole we are a plague upon the planet. We over populate. So called"advancements" in medicine have caused Charles Darwin's Theory of Evolution and Natural Selection to die out, and it makes me sick.
The mentally deficient that would normally die, the handicapped that would normally die... the elderly, the... fucking, look if there is a Hell I've already got a one way ticket there for thinking all of the "evil" men of the past had a great vision.
I do not support religion. It is as much a plague as we are. Maybe even worse.
I'm pro choice. It's taken me a few years to realize this, but I am.
I'm against continuing to populate this planet. The sick, feeble, retarded, handicapped, etc. need to just die. Those with severe social retardation need to die. This world needs a genocidal cleansing like it hasn't seen since the last great extinction.
We are a plague upon the Earth, and we do not deserve to live. We have ruined what was once a beautiful planet. We have consumed VAST amounts of our home's resources. Each and every one of you, on some level, makes me sick. I make myself sick because I, like you, am nothing but a virus upon this forsaken planet.
The pain assaults me daily, the tide of suffering assaults me daily... I stopped caring years ago when I became desensitized to this shit thanks to the wonderful American media and the internet.
I laugh at pictures of death. I poke fun at religion. I am not who I used to be. I am not who I want to be. No amount of mental help, psychiatric therapy or anything will cleanse me of these sins, of this evil.
I used to sing His praises until I realized He was but a lie told for generations, a lie upon my mother's lips.
And yet, here I am... wondering if this is just all in my head. If I'm not really this misanthropic, if I'm not really this hateful...
I wonder where that little boy with a song in his heart went... I wonder where that little boy that used to sing "Achy Breaky Heart" ran off to...
Did my grandmother's passing really undo my perception of reality this much? 6 years, almost 7, and I get worse as the years go on.
But of course I'll never let you catch on. I bottle it all inside until I release it in blogs here and there, in lyrics there and everywhere...
I am fascinated with the concept of death... I love the look of blood. The color, the texture...
Nothing you can do can save me from my fate...
