he wrote this out of spite. he knows that. he can't deny it. he reads it over, what he has written. he deletes it and starts again, but he knows it's all in vain. he's telling himself a story.

he is so lost. he knows no one understand's him, and he knows that no one cares. he wants to start a new life. he wants to start over. he knows that he's just tired, but he doesn't care. he needs to leave it all behind, and escape to a place in his dreams. he has to leave this town behind and never return.

he's writing and the words just keep coming to him.

he tries to explain it to them. he knows it's all in vain. he knows that no one takes him seriously. especially her. he knows that she is the cause of all the problems. he knows that if he had never met her, things would be better. he can hate her, despise her, and detest her. but he knows that without her, he would not be able to go on. he knows that even though he hates, despises, and detests her, he loves her, admires her, and adores her. he thanks God for her.

he never knew God. he thought he did once. he thinks to himself, that nobody really knows God. he knows that others know and believe He exists. but he doesn't. he's having a hard time. he thinks it's because of the other distractions. but he's not going into detail about that now.

he doesn't give a damn anymore. he's writing these words with a sinical smile on his face. he says, here comes the fun part.

he hates himself for everything he does or doesn't do. wrong or right, he hates it. he knows that everything he writes or says, won't matter to anyone else. he's all alone. he knows the walls are closing in on him. he screams out in pain, knowing that it will do no good.

he finishes writing this story. he hopes that maybe, perhaps, and hopefully you'll take him seriously. he's praying for his own safety.

he is a damn fool.

goodnight.