I hate people. With a passion. I'd love it if they all die. I've had this instinctive hate all my life.
They're ruining the Earth. Polluting it.
They should be wiped out.
And sometimes, I break. I kick, scream, punch. Everything. I just break. I'm like unclear glass, foggy and shattering terribly fast.
I am not happy. Nowhere near it. And that comes from being surround by that hate for them.
But at the same time, I want to be noticed by people, of all things. I want them to like me. To accept me for who I am. Not who I act like. It's instinctive to want to be accepted. Humans are pack animals. They live in packs.
I'm not noticed. Not accepted.
They don't understand. They don't care. They don't bother to clear that fog on the glass and really look though. They just turn away from the blurred images that they could care less about.
So I'm angry. I hate. I lash out. I wish for the worst for those around me, those I don't know, and those I've known of all my life.
They're all the same. So why should I care?
People hate me. I hate them.
But at least I get noticed because of that hate.
