you don't know me.
emails, myspace comments, faces in the hallway, shows, notepassing,
will not make you know me any better.
but forgive me;
this is not a form of self-glorification.
i have simply come to terms with the fact that what i truly am
is much,
MUCH
less.
what i am, at age seventeen, is tired of life.
i am exhausted by looking at the same sun through the same windows.
i have lost all motivation, merely by acknowledging the fact that
the majority of my lingerie is inescapably mediocre.
i have immersed one identity in too many failed attempts
at career paths, life goals, and
trying not to be too critical at family dinners.
i am slowly melting into the fact that
nothing is worth anything.
money is a translation of human flaws into material possessions.
evangilicity is only an excuse for creation of minorities
and theft of territory.
how fast you get to work in the morning is a measurement of how soon
it will take to melt the polar ice caps
and destroy everything we have ever been given.
diseased is deserved; death is earned,
only cowards take the way out.
i will always be a hypocrite, because I will always be torn between
human rights and euthanasia.
(what I want vs. what I get).
unlike you, I understand that you are irreparably fucked.
I'm irreparably fucked.
because these are the facts of life:
1. you are the product of an act of sexual deviancy, you did not earn to exist, you will most likely succeed in doing nothing but wasting ressources.
you do not deserve to live.
2. your mother, your father, the elderly grandparents who spoon fed you icecream and filled your pockets with bright gumballs.
everyone around you will die - before you.
3. you write in graphite pencil (decomposition in 13 years), on paper (decomposition in 3 months), at your desk (decomposition in 17 years), at your large posh office building (decomposition 50-100 years), shelling out 30$ (decomposition in 2 years) at a time on gas to power your new mercedes (decomposition: unknown) so that the wind can blow through your hair (permenant Auburn 36, 17.99$ at walmart), and you can feel okay.
nothing you do, in the long scheme of things, will ever matter,
4. with luck, and hopefully grace,
you will die.

feel better yet?
didnt think so.