-------------------- 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
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Bred to be stupid and born to be nothing~
They tell us how to dress and teach us to obey but they never heard a word that we had to say