An angsty bit of writing I'm posting for the hell of it.
heres a little something I wrote. Its not plot-y, but I'm still in PSD, so . . . .
I hate. I love. I don’t dislike, I am never indifferent. I live as hard and as fast as I can, so that I can sleep with out dreaming. I run, I scream, I play, I love, I hate. I am, to a point, but I am never at rest. I hate to not do something. I hate just waiting and watching the world go by. I hate waiting to fall asleep, that period in time when I can’t control my thoughts, that time where I have to examine my self, and see all the perceived flaws. I hate crying, I hate giggling, I love anger, I love all that is sharp and hard and has defined edges. I love learning. I hate boredom. I hate, with passion, waiting for the world. I love knowing things, I love experiencing things, I love moving, I love stopping, I love falling, I hate slowing down, I love hitting the ground. I love sharp pain, that reminds me that I am real, I hate dull pain, that makes me just like everyone else.
If I run fast enough, if I scream loud enough, if I fall hard enough, then the world will never catch up with me, will never make me stop to think about who I am and all the things I’m not. If it never catches up with me, then I will never have to look at my self and my life and judge it, see if it was worth it.
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I am sitting on the edge of tears. I am sitting, waiting to cry, willing myself not to, but not able to escape the rising in my throat. I think that if I were actually to start crying, I wouldn’t be able to stop, if I were actually able to start crying, then I would never stop, but while not stopping, I would be content.
I hate being content. I want to live on the extremes. I want to extatic or angry or . . . I want to be always on the edge of reason.
yeah, so read it . . .
I hate. I love. I don’t dislike, I am never indifferent. I live as hard and as fast as I can, so that I can sleep with out dreaming. I run, I scream, I play, I love, I hate. I am, to a point, but I am never at rest. I hate to not do something. I hate just waiting and watching the world go by. I hate waiting to fall asleep, that period in time when I can’t control my thoughts, that time where I have to examine my self, and see all the perceived flaws. I hate crying, I hate giggling, I love anger, I love all that is sharp and hard and has defined edges. I love learning. I hate boredom. I hate, with passion, waiting for the world. I love knowing things, I love experiencing things, I love moving, I love stopping, I love falling, I hate slowing down, I love hitting the ground. I love sharp pain, that reminds me that I am real, I hate dull pain, that makes me just like everyone else.
If I run fast enough, if I scream loud enough, if I fall hard enough, then the world will never catch up with me, will never make me stop to think about who I am and all the things I’m not. If it never catches up with me, then I will never have to look at my self and my life and judge it, see if it was worth it.
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I am sitting on the edge of tears. I am sitting, waiting to cry, willing myself not to, but not able to escape the rising in my throat. I think that if I were actually to start crying, I wouldn’t be able to stop, if I were actually able to start crying, then I would never stop, but while not stopping, I would be content.
I hate being content. I want to live on the extremes. I want to extatic or angry or . . . I want to be always on the edge of reason.
yeah, so read it . . .