January 29, 2007
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The mind grows weary, day after day. Druge away for half a month, receive pay, dissipate coin in exchange for metabolic fuel and miscellaneous garbage, and repeat. It gets so monotonous that it fucking disgusts me. This 'paper' life can be so meaningless and without essence, infact it feels as if it is! I hunger for unconquerable passion; a quest for something to build, something to create, someone to fight against, something to do that will feed this empty hole in my chest.
Everyonce and a while I fall into a slump of depression and I have to either climb out of it or wallow in it and die. I get angry without any perticular reason. Angry at the world and angry at myself. I walk in the dark and shady streets when I'm alone hoping for conflict without fear. You can call me foolish and naive; I'll call myself hungry and insane. I wouldn't start a fight, but I would find great pleasure in ending one. I will feel no remorse for taking the lives that are offered to me.
Comments (1)
hole in the chest - i have that right now, except for other reasons. bah!
cheers to you. We should go on a killing spree one day. I'll hold your extra weapons.
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