Coooooooooool

Alright here it is. I hate it all. Not sickeningly, but enough to want to shout a good "fuck you" at you at some point when you crawl. Which you won't, because I want it. Oh wait, but you do what I want don't you? Tell me what I want to hear? Obviously you don't know too well, for as smart as you are. You're frustrating, aren't you all. I can hear myself swallow hard and I'll still keep my fingers clenched tight to my palm, only to release in a shriek of remorse. The roof of my mouth scraped, raw, throbbing and all I can truly think about is how messy I can be. How sloppy. How you'll never even see this. Come July, it'll be forgotten, and if not I'll be jelly elbowed and jelly kneed, and jelly brained. But hey, c'mon, tell me you're fine, you'll suck it up, tell me you're a man because thats ALL I ever wanted to hear, or so you thought. It's not. I wanted to hear what you actually felt you robot. You tall tower of metal. Of computer insides and outs. I used to kick computers and now all I do is depend on them. But enough of that, I kind of hate you. I kind of hate what it's all done, and what I can know and see now. I kind of hate you all.

Well I lost it even though I'm still in that brooding mood, I lost it.