I've been writing in a journal(s) since I was about 7. I'm gonna show you some shit I've wrote, and no I don't consider them shit. haha.
"Looks like everyone is gone. No holding back. There's a decline between the mutal feelings I share with the world. As if, I am nothing, or no one. A scattering newspaper rolling across the street, or a junkie in the alley. Really, there is no difference. In reality, they are both equal. Worthless in the same quantity, or quality. I progress forward, creating a line of thought, distracting everything, and everyone who encounters me.
Is society as dangerous as the heroin flowing through the junkie's veins? Why do I feel lonely in this world?
Am I just the only one who gives a fuck about life and it's "attrocities"?
Hopefully not.
I wrote that at about twelve years of age.
"Looks like everyone is gone. No holding back. There's a decline between the mutal feelings I share with the world. As if, I am nothing, or no one. A scattering newspaper rolling across the street, or a junkie in the alley. Really, there is no difference. In reality, they are both equal. Worthless in the same quantity, or quality. I progress forward, creating a line of thought, distracting everything, and everyone who encounters me.
Is society as dangerous as the heroin flowing through the junkie's veins? Why do I feel lonely in this world?
Am I just the only one who gives a fuck about life and it's "attrocities"?
Hopefully not.
I wrote that at about twelve years of age.