There is not a thing in the world I would love more than to die. But my pride will never let me kill myself. I could just bring a knife right up to my chest and push. Nothing would ever happen.
My pride has a force of its own. It makes me invincible. Or so it seems. I've been beaten. I've been bruised. I've been scarred. I've been tortured. But I CAN'T die. I'm not allowed to. The rules of the game don't work that way.
I believe that some people have committed suicide because they've figured out the true meaning of the world. Some people have committed suicide because their pride has been hurt so brutally. It's weak, really.
The world truly is about survival of the fittest. I'm not talking life and death as one might be thinking right now. It's about who has the brains to figure out the true meaning of the world. You have got to be somewhat poetic. You have got to use more than seven percent of your brain. You have got to break free from that box with the boundaries that everyone else is stuck thinking by. You have got to be me.
I'm not saying you have to be a genius. Hell, you can be mentally retarded and figure out the things I have. All in all, you've got to have a more creative mind. Observe and don't listen to what everyone tells you. They're all wrong. Look around, watch all the possibilities, then come up with some theories of your own. It's as simple as that.
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Book of Ramblings
No FicciónThis is just what I do when I'm bored. I like to ramble. I write whatever pops in my mind and sounds good on paper. It doesn't always sound good though. It's mainly just a way for me to vent. The first rambling I have on here, I wrote when I was rea...
