Abaddon.. is that the name? Gave me a 1...
Whatever. Like a little dog yipping incesantly for attention. Giving it only makes him yip more.
Besides, I rarely take the time to rate... anyone. Even people who rate me with 10's... why am I going to waste my time on him?
I think I've already wasted enough time just typing this out....
Granted I didn't give you a good rate, but honestly, your profile was weak at best.
Just another profile of "angst." Saying nothing but I'm angry, life sucks, rebel against authority, I'm here to try and offend you as good as the lowest-common-denominator can and... blah blah blah.
I really don't care about the rate I've been given, but it's the reasoning, or supposed reasoning. Fortunately I realize it was just a spiteful, revenge type rate and the comment was meaningless...
He's just an asshat. Your profile has always been one of my favorites, the stories you tell and the way you describe things is wonderful. I still go there just to read the things you've put up.
So yeah..Down with asshate shit for brains.
What the hell, birra?! Door knobs are brilliant. You can lock them to keep out the rabble, turn them to gain entrance into the places you wish to be, and admire them from architectural, decorative, or historical perspectives. His profile, by comparison, is a dark stain on a convict's mattress.
Bag of doorknobs... I like that. :)
Birra, I have enjoyed your profile and journal for a long, long time.
Your writing is enthralling and captivating.
If I was ever going to have a man crush, it would be you.
His murdering of the language tells me a lot about him. I am still trying to make out his username:/
I walk in the glow of street lights
Alone again, but wanting more
I see the people walk by
Their faces familiar, but strangers they will always be
Do they see me the same as I see them?
And no one stops
Even for a smile .
The mistakes I’ve made cannot be counted
The life I’ve lived and pain I’ve felt
Cannot compare to the pain I’d caused
I feel it consuming everything
My life, and the meaning,
And how do I keep going on?
I swallow down this pain
And keep my tight throat clear
With alcohol and wonder
And how do I keep going on?
It all means something
But what I cannot say for sure.
And the music still rings in my ears
Even when the music isn’t there….
...that is what I was told tonight.
All of it.
All on me.
Everything bad that has happened. All the hard feelings... where things are today... all my fault.
I interpret the actions and words that always seem to conflict with each other, wrong. Saying one thing and doing another is fine, as long as it's not me doing it. Otherwise, it's my fault for not figuring it out.
I won't continue with this. What's the point? I'm not allowed to have feelings. I'm not allowed to feel hurt. I'm not allowed to be wrong, and I'm never right.
What is the old saying? Winners never quit, and quitters never win. But those that never win and never quit are just morons.
Yeah... I can't win.
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