Funny what one can rummage over old High School stuff. I probably had a troubled youth lol. This is taken from my old journal during my second year in HighSchool.

Once there was a kid who loved writing poems, stories and essays. His stories were dark, vengeful and full of hatred. He hated the world, his family and his so called “friends”. A boy unloved who had to carry the weight of maturity way beyond his age. He was someone who hides beneath the shelter of “good things to come”. He dreams unceasingly until his heart tells him that one day he could make things happen.

Today I am still dreaming, dreaming that I would be loved and accepted for the weirdo that I am, dreaming that one day I would be surrounded by people who care and people who think like me.

But people are egocentric, they only think about themselves. And people change, people whom I thought were genuine were the same ones who watched me fall into the abyss that I have created for myself. Friends and family, who take pleasure in someone else’s misery, people who find somebody else’s death funny.

I feel pain and I want everyone to share it with me. Feel my pain. Feel it, blood rushing through my veins up my head.