Enlightenment. It’s on its way. I can feel it coming.

You don’t have to read this. It’s just a bitter, immature seventeen year old rambling for no good reason. You probably don’t want to waste your time on this. Go on, I’m sure you have something more important to do. Like a job, a family, taking a crap. You won’t like this. You’ll probably curse me and then forget me. Or maybe, just maybe, you’ll hate me. You won’t know why, but you will. Good. That’s what I’m hoping for.

It’s on its way.

I HATE YOU.

No, that’s not it.

I WANT TO KILL YOU.

Not it either.

I RENOUNCE YOU.

Yep, there you go. I renounce you. I reject you. You and this hypocritical society based on nothing but lies. I reject everything this life has to offer me. Money, security, happiness. The luxury car that runs on the residue of your ideals. The big condo paid for with your dreams. The material comforts the costs of which are debited from your soul. Your entire life is ONE BIG LIE. You are chasing someone else’s dreams. Your achievements aren’t really your own. Your success is borrowed, your happiness a falsehood, your contentment superficial.

I, do not want that. That is why I must reject this way of life. I do not want security or happiness or contentment. I feed on misery, it keeps me alive. I thrive on my insecurities. I choose to let my discontent wash over me, drive me forward. I want to be controlled by my rage. I want my hatred to consume me. I want to be the stone that brings down your glass house of hypocrisy. Go ahead and choose life. I choose not to. I want to drink myself to liver failure. I want everyday to be the hangover prior to the nightly binge. I want sobriety to be as rare as a three-headed snake. I want to end up smoking out of a hole in my neck, unable to speak, my lungs so rotten and black, they make the Black Plague look like a walk in the park. I want to have an iron lung. I want to cough up blood all day. I want to be high. I want to drop so much acid, I fry my brain and can’t even remember my name. I want flashbacks so horrific, they make the holocaust look like a Walt Disney movie. I want my arms full of puncture wounds. I want my dick amputated because I accidentally stuck an artery. I want to be mainlining heroin into my eyeballs.

I want to die, miserable, fucked up, alone. In a pool of my piss, blood and vomit. I want every breath to be a struggle. I want to feel like my insides are clenched in an iron fist and it’s closing. I want to feel my heart bursting out of my throat. I want my insides mashed up inside me like baked potatoes. I want my organs so rotten by the constant abuse that they use me in the only commercial they’ll ever need to get kids to stop doing drugs. I want to drown in my own bile, and as I die, the pressure on my gut finally gone, I want to shit my pants.

Don’t understand? You won’t.

Now before I do that, I need hope. I need to be able to think that the cancer that calls itself humanity will eventually turn on itself and die. And this earth will be healthy once more.

For that, I want you to go home and kill yourself. Doesn’t matter how. Messy and painful would be preferred though. Slit your wrists, slit your throats, drown in your own blood, disembowel yourself, amputate every appendage on your body and bleed to death. It’s all good honey. Eat rat poison and vomit your life out, overdose on heroin, cocaine, speed, meth, amphetamines, sieze up, foam at the mouth. Crack your skull open, stick a knife through your eye into your brain. Shoot yourself in the head, the face, the gut, mutilate your genitals and choke on your amputated dick, drink sulphuric acid and feel your insides melting away, come under a bus and let your skull be crushed open like rock candy, leaving your brains all over the road. Jump off a bridge and shatter every bone in your body. Stick a rod so far up your ass, it tears its way through your intestines and stomach, and out the front. Whatever, I’m not choosy. Just so long as you’re dead.

Follow my advice.

Kill Yourself.

Because I’m right and you’re wrong. And you can’t love knowing that your entire existence is a lie. You may think I’m crazy now. But this will come back to haunt you. My mirror will reflect your lie. Tomorrow, a year from now, 30 years from now. But one day, you’ll see. And that’s the day your life ceases to have meaning, ceases to be. If you have it in you, if you’re lucky, death will be waiting around the corner, happy to take you in its embrace. If you’re lucky.

Zombies aren’t lucky. You’d be surprised at the number of Zombies out there.

Adios.

Have a fun life.