No one wants to see that.
So, yeah. I recently checked out someone's livejournal. All I could say is, did I honestly know that person at one point in my life. How did I not see through their facade. The other thought that ran through my mind was; Utter disgust. There was one other thing that happened. My brain sending a signal to my mouth, telling it to open. Then a few quick spurts of air coming out, of a vibrating throat making something completely unintelligible. We call that laughter. I could of just said laughing, but I enjoy seeming pretentious.
Hell, I could talk about anything I really wanted to. No one fucking reads this anyway. I could make a list of people, and talk shit about each one of them. All of them would be none the wiser. Seriously, any of you reading this aren't going to actually comprehend anything. So, whats the fucking point? I mean, like it matters. Who am I even fucking talking to. I keep typing like I am informing a someone. I am informing no one. Oh, well. I guess it works out for the best. That I am infact talking to no one, because a lot of the people I know disgust me to the highest extent. So why would I want to inform them of my problems, of my dealings. So that they can shake their head in acknowledgment while in actuality have acknowledged nothing of what I said.
Who am I though to be disgusted by anyone. I am filth, be it a lower form of filth. However, filth still. I do not deserve this high chair I constantly put myself on. I am above little, and that I am above is just mud, and I only a pebble.
Hell, I could talk about anything I really wanted to. No one fucking reads this anyway. I could make a list of people, and talk shit about each one of them. All of them would be none the wiser. Seriously, any of you reading this aren't going to actually comprehend anything. So, whats the fucking point? I mean, like it matters. Who am I even fucking talking to. I keep typing like I am informing a someone. I am informing no one. Oh, well. I guess it works out for the best. That I am infact talking to no one, because a lot of the people I know disgust me to the highest extent. So why would I want to inform them of my problems, of my dealings. So that they can shake their head in acknowledgment while in actuality have acknowledged nothing of what I said.
Who am I though to be disgusted by anyone. I am filth, be it a lower form of filth. However, filth still. I do not deserve this high chair I constantly put myself on. I am above little, and that I am above is just mud, and I only a pebble.