19/11/10

I'd wish I'd had a weapon. A weapon that would hurt my feelings, or that would drown them. I'd wish I'd stop that stupid desire of mine to hurt everyone, because I end being cared by no one. My patience is a line, a really thin line that is about to be broken in any motion. With wrath within my heart, fear in my throat and tears in my soul, i'm alone in a corner that's covered by darkness. I really damn you.
I really damn our friendship, or what could I ever meant to you. I damn alcohol, reunions, and social events. I damn peer pressure and depending on people. I damn being a saint in a world full of filthy hipocrites who are willing to live by your own sweat. Ask me to my face, try to challenge me if you can handle the power and strenght of my fury. Keep on smiling and laughing as if you knew nothing, forget about me as you always do, and leave me alone in a world of sadness in which I've always belonged. If I could compare a sensation, it would be the sensation of that black vodka, the feeling of fire running through all my body making my whole being tremble. My stomach is a mix of a distant soup, coke, alcohol, apetizers, and my own pair of acids. I feel the pulsing terror in my veins and the desesperation in my voice. I'd wish humans could have the power of having an image of the future, so I could be able to erase this horrible night. As if I puke, I'd feel better. I hate being and adult trapped in an adolescent body, but I know i'm right. I could be a really nice boxer if you could measure the impact of my strikes.
I damn my destiny, and the ones who made me live it.