About
I don’t kill people.Perhaps it's just another inhibition to do away with. Perhaps not. There’s really no way of telling. It’s possible I’ve just never been able to well up so much interest in any person to care enough to end their life. I’d much rather avoid them altogether. Most of them. It’s night, the sky is beautiful. Up and away from this room and this bed and this oppressive inevitability of sleep. I hate sleep. But sleep always comes (that or madness). Fighting off heavy eyelids gets lonely. But spending time this way does allow you some insight on certain things, though perhaps trivial, as most things tend to be. You begin to get very familiar with mortal compilations and you begin to resent those who turn their things into laughable theatrics, and twist it into yet another fashion. It’s not skull-buckle boots, or white makeup put on bad skin. It all loses its significance once you cheapen it by making into a style thing. But with all these irritations present I still maintain my stupendously sunny deposition. Having predominantly unpleasant thought is just another thing to accept normality, and eventually becomes part of the blood that fuels you. It’s all very amusing. But. In no way does it render you invulnerable to the effects of a bad day. But I’ve managed this nicely. I mean, well I still haven’t killed anyone.
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