“and he cries,
but you’ll rarely see him do it.
He loves, but he’s scared to use it.
So he hides behind the music, ‘cause he likes it that way.
He’s so much more than worthless,
he needs to find the surface,
because he’s starting to get nervous.”—TFK
I’m the only one. Nobody understands me. Nobody hears me. Nobody will care tomorrow, if I was gone today. I’m the only one who gets my deepest thoughts. In the end of the day, I doubt if anyone really cares. Cares to the point that’d they lay down everything they had, just to hear me, and sacrifice for me, to try and get what I’m talking about. If they had to give everything… they wouldn’t do it.
Fuck this world. FUCK IT. IT’S SICK! I HATE IT! I WANT TO WATCH IT BURN! I. FUCKING. HATE. IT.
It makes me sick just thinking about it. We’re all so god damn selfish. We deserve the cruelest of ends. We deserve every pain and horror we suffer. Why? WE’RE FUCKED UP MONSTERS.
"Oh you’re just being a little over emotional Speedy…" No… I’m fucking not. I’m being fucking serious. This is what runs through my head half the time.
Nobody takes the fucking God given time to care about your life. They just want to know you care about theirs. IT’S SICK! IT’S SO GODDAMN SICK. What is death to today’s world anymore? We murder children, send men to die, and make fun of those who have died. AND IT’S ALL LEGAL. FUCK THAT! FUCK. THAT. FUCK THIS WORLD. It’s full of sick people. Look around for five God damn seconds. AM I THE ONLY PERSON WHO SEES WHAT’S WRONG!??!?!?!? Get out of your little fucking bubble. Take a pin and pop it. DO ANY OF YOU EVEN DARE THINK ABOUT THE BLACK HEART OF THIS WORLD IN IT’S ENTIRETY? I mean ever square inch of evil and immorality that surrounds us…
"NOOO!!! THAT’S TOO DEPRESSING SPEEDY!" FUCK THAT AND FUCK YOU! GET OUT OF YOUR HEAD, BECAUSE HERE’S A FUCKING NEWSFLASH… THERE ARE MORE HEADS OUT THERE THAN YOURS!
Nobody tries. And I never understood why until I tried it myself. Tried to fucking care. To shove out everything that was “me” and lay it all down for someone else… for everyone else.
YOU GET FUCKING SPIT ON. WHY? BECAUSE WE’RE MONSTERS. Have you ever tried to give everything you have away? Not quite physically, but that’s God damn amazing if you do, but I mean emotionally, mentally. Give away all concern for yourself. Truly devote yourself to somebody, or many people. People you hold close. To the point where you would lay down anything and everything for that person? Has anyone ever tried to be so selfless. I got the closest I could to it, and I realized, that it is only a pain on yourself, because in the end, nobody cares, and nobody even recognizes.
YOU DON’T CARE ABOUT MY THOUGHTS. HELL I FUCKING COMMEND YOU IF YOU READ THIS DAMN FAR WITHOUT SKIPPING. GO MAKE A FUCKING MEDAL CAUSE YOU DESERVE IT.
We are all selfish monsters. We deserve our hell on earth. We made it. We make it worse. And then we blame everyone else. We blame it on the people who did nothing. The people who tried to care. Who tried to make sense of something. People blame it on someone like me, who takes a few minutes to point out the truth. Nobody wants the truth. They want “ME, ME, ME, FUCKING DIPPETY DO DAA ME!”
Well that’s great for you.
Now this is where I fuck up your head (if you’re still reading). You’d think I’m complaining about laying everything down? Opening yourself entirely to everyone who doesn’t deserve it… I’m not complaining. I’m glad I did it. I’m going to keep doing it. It reminded me of these very things. It will keep doing that. And at the END OF THE FUCKING DAY! I will have the god-damn satisfaction I didn’t sit there whining “ME ME ME ME ME ME FUCKING ME! OH SCREW YOU! LOOK AT ME” FUCK. THAT. I know that when I give myself over, I will get hurt. I don’t care anymore. If it means I can be something other than one of the billions of monsters on this planet for even a few minutes, few days, few weeks, few months… than thank God for that. I’m tired of myself. I hate myself. Forget me. Care about everyone else. My problems are nothing in the eyes of millions. Why should they be anything more in mine?
We are monsters.
Go wake the fuck up world, and think about someone else for once.
I never realized until I got home, that this smile I’ve been wearing all day, is fake. I feel like shit… I can’t take all of this inside. It makes me feel sick to my stomach. My head is overwhelmed by one thing. It ruins my mood. Leaves me like shit and doubting myself all day. Let’s me know for sure I’ve failed.
Looked down from a broken sky Traced out by the city lights My world from a mile high Best seat in the house tonight Touched down on the cold black tar Hold on for the sudden stop Breathe in the familiar shock Of confusion and chaos
All those people going somewhere Why have I never cared?
Give me Your eyes for just one second Give me Your eyes so I can see Everything that I keep missing Give me Your love for humanity Give me Your arms for the brokenhearted The ones that are far beyond my reach Give me Your heart for the one’s forgotten Give me Your eyes so I can see Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Step out on a busy street See a girl and our eyes meet Does her best to smile at me To hide what’s underneath There’s a man just to her right Black suit and a bright red tie Too ashamed to tell his wife He’s out of work, he’s buying time
All those people going somewhere Why have I never cared?
I’m the man with all I’ve ever wanted All the toys and playing games I am the one who pours your coffee, corner booth each Saturday I am your daughter’s favorite teacher I’m the leader of the band I sit behind you in the bleachers I am every man
I’m the coach of every winning team and still a loser in my mind I am the soldier in the airport facing giants one more time I am the woman shamed and haunted by the cry of unborn life I’m every broken man, nervous child, lonely wife
One was a very good dream, about someone extremely special…
the other was scary and amazing at the same time, and only verifies the fact that I am a nerd. it was a full length game of Modern Warfare 2 in my head… and I haven’t played MW2 in maybe two weeks… Hardcore HQ on Favela I was using a P90 and an RPG, and I know I had marathon and lightweight… my kdr was 27-5 and I got at least three knife kills… i even remember taking a screenshot at the end of the game, right before I woke up… now right now your head is probably screaming “NERD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” but Im just simply shocked at how real the dream was, like how my mind could create realistic responses for 11 other people in that game… I was even typing “good game” and all that such at the end of the game and making typos XDDDD yeah Im a nerd….
I liked the first dream better though… made me happy… made me less of a nerd XP
So… Imma post a story… completely original… directly here… just for you people… because… well hell… I have absolutely nothing better to do besides dwell on regrets and read teen driver manuals.
Shadows and darkness. Guilt and confusion. He lay there, curled up like a child, under the dark ocean that consumed him. He stared at nothing, the blackness of the ocean around him. His mind raced, overwhelmed with the thoughts of what he’d done. Everything he didn’t do. His gut wrenched out of him. He felt sick. "Not again!" he pleaded in a scream, piercing the perpetual silence of the ocean. He tore himself from his bed, tossing the ravaged ocean of covers off the bed. He bolted for the bathroom door, losing his footing on an empty pill bottle, and falling forward. He landed halfway through his bathroom door, hard on his stomach, his head smashing sideways onto the bathroom floor. "Fuck!" he moaned. He felt the first warm trickles of blood snake down his left ear. He didn’t care. He crawled by his hands in a desperate move for the toilet. He dragged himself from the floor by the rim of a toilet, and released all tension in his body as he hung his head over the rim. There he remained for fifteen minutes, releasing everything and nothing. He felt so sick. The regret he was burdened with, was too much for his physical being, and was slowly tearing at his mental being. He hadn’t eaten in days… nothing came from his mad run for the bathroom. He only gagged, choking more on tears than his own throat. He eventually found the strength to stand. He stood over his sink, staring dreadfully at the sink. The stains of blood were still there. He cringed. His mind went black, preparing to rape his world with dark memories. He shook himself, screaming, and slammed his head into the door behind him. “NO!” he cried in his mind. Fear piercing his backbone, he tore his eyes from the blood stained sink and looked into the mirror before him. He suddenly wished he had kept staring at his sink. The face he saw in the mirror defied everything that was “human.” This was not the face his friends knew. It was not the smiling face of the family pictures, laying in shattered glass throughout his kitchen. It was not the face of the man who stood smiling on his senior prom year, next to the most beautiful girl. “That girl… that…” He broke down. His knees buckled under the weight of guilt, the weight of grief. He fell to the bathroom floor on his knees, and stared at the bathroom floor behind the veil of tears. His sobs pierced the dead silence of the tiny apartment. How he wished this pain would leave. He begged for peace, begged for comfort. But nobody could comfort him. Not his friends, not his family, no smoke, no drink. Not even pain, could relieve his darkest of wounds. If only she could be there. She always had comforted him. She had always… WHAT WAS HE THINKING? She would never come back. She was gone… gone forever… and it was all his fault… HIS FAULT. Why… WHY DIDN’T HE SEE IT!?! The thoughts marauded his mind. He could not silence them. He screamed. Pain coursed through his body. His breathing stopped, his chest tightened. His heart raced and his head throbbed. Every limb numbed with shock. He looked up, and saw a face. He saw a beautiful face, smiling. His screaming became louder, overwhelmed with his demons. The face twisted before him, clenched teeth, scowling eyes… everything changed until the face was a mirror of his own, screaming at everything before it. He screamed until his voice could not shed any more sound, until his throat went dry, and nothing but the silent exhalation of air poured from his silently screaming face. He dropped his head, tears streaming down his face, down his neck, mixing into the sea of sweat that coursed along his chest. His breathing became heavy. He was so hot. Sweat was everywhere. He hurt so much, he could feel nothing. His mind was overwhelmed, he thought nothing. He slowly rose, dragging himself up by the frame of the door. He stumbled across his room, to the lone table at the foot of his bed. He picked up a picture, and stared at it, long and hard. He read the letters and numbers scribbled in the bottom corner. Overcoming the image of the beautiful girl of the picture, stood the words “R.I.P. Whitney, 01/17/10.” He stared at it for a few minutes, before the phrase “I’m sorry,” was silently mouthed across his lips. He layed a kiss gently on the photo, and set it down on the table. He slowly turned, and began stepping towards the sliding glass door at the other end of the room. He pulled aside the curtains and opened the door, stepping out onto a tiny outcropping that had barely enough room for him. He moved forward to the tiny fenced edge, which barely came up to his waist. He inhaled deeply, sucking in the fresh silence of the night. He looked out in front of him. In the distance, he saw the skyscrapers of the city, the lights of cars and houses. From his fifth story apartment position, he could hear the sounds of cars silently moving through the empty suburban cascades of the night. He saw the few poor stragglers who walked among the sidewalks at this time of the night. He saw no beauty in this view. He took no enjoyment in this air of night. All he could see was her, and all he could hear was his own screaming. He looked down at the gutter trench, far beneath his balcony, dipping just below street level. He closed his eyes. A peaceful regret overcame him. “If I could not save her, than I cannot save myself.” He thought, with an overwhelming finality. He pushed against the balcony fence, and opened his eyes. Staring again, at the deep black trench below. It was the last thing he ever saw.
It was 3:27 a.m. on a cold Monday morning, on the suburban outskirts of Chicago. The date was 4/13/10.
Michael Thomas was reported dead later that morning by the apartment manager at around 8:17a.m., his body found lying in the gutter trench below his apartment balcony. ____________ This story is entirely fictional. No characters or references are intended to have any direct relevance or connection to real world people or events. It was merely a story I decided to write. Reblog or share if you want. I honestly don’t care. Call it your own and turn it in for an English project if you want. It’s just something I wrote, and something I will gratefully forget.
they have a metal edge, but they aren’t all growling screamo… they are actually really good…
"We all learn from our failures. I never thought I could fall this far. So far from you. With no desire to look back. Ill embrace this forever. Divorcing my adoration. As death marches to the grave. We all learn from our mistakes, let it break me. We all learn from our failures. Failure is death, and I have overcome it. With not a single tear of remembrance. I choose to forget and start all over.”