To Whomever

To Whomever

The skies are blue; the sun is out, I should be happy. Everything should be well. But I’m not happy. I’m in this perpetual state of sadness; all because of childish, adolescent, pathetic, wants. I want someone in my arms, I want love so badly. People seem to be happy in themselves; able to exist happily, going along, doing what the world smiles on them for. However, I cannot function, I am struck dumb by your absence, I don’t even know if it is you, or just anyone dear reader.

I look out at the world; how I wish I could be a bird, or a cat, to be free; existing without money, without success, without failure; freedom from humanity. Gaining affection perhaps; I look at myself, as a man, and see something truly disgusting, I can’t see anything likeable about this being, and I don’t fit in. I am dull, unable to have a good time in the same way others do; getting irritable over such trivialities as what music I can hear, not wanting to drink in large enough quantities to not care anymore. I am judgemental, not just against myself but others, referring to the normal person as filth, having an uncompromising hatred of humanity. I am needy, selfish to the highest degree, demanding your attention and your love; and yet not returning the favour so to speak. I seek attention though any means necessary, I’m doing it right now, I’m writing this down and in about five minutes I’ll try and get somebody to read it, I mean, what else could my poetry be apart from me demanding your attention, you know who you are.

I mean, look at yourself; you’re wonderful, you have real problems but you don’t let them take over your life; you’re what is right about humanity dear reader. Nice people like yourself seem to be in the minority, diminishing; while devils like me reign.

It has often occurred to me to end this existence, sometimes just to see what would happen, often due to some incident that has left me in depression; I tried three times, failed three times, by the time one fails one sees, that perhaps people like you dear reader, are the reason we must persevere, so that your burden won’t be greatened, and that we can enjoy your company for longer. The idea that it isn’t worth it will always lurk behind these eyes, but I’ll persevere for people like you dear reader.

The ravens fly, they’re seen as dark birds, but are they really? Their appearance is one of death, destruction, depression, and more death in for good measure, similar to the way crows are depicted, humanity put their own meaning to things, things that we cannot understand; if I left now, some would say to some utopia in the sky is where I’d be headed, but how could anyone know? Humanity assumes so much about the universe, and because we haven’t come into contact with a similar species we haven’t been corrected or questioned by anyone but ourselves, but if you come into an investigation with the outcome already in your mind, is it surprising that you come to that conclusion by the end? I hope dear reader, that you won’t assume anything until you check.

Dear reader I leave you with some words of a friend of mine: “nobody likes a weakling”

From Hauteville the Suicide Kitty