Home, by Clementine von Radics
|08.31.14 @ 12:13||1,079 notes||Permalink|
|08.31.14 @ 12:13||5,957 notes||Permalink|
I wanna kill people. Like literally kill people. So you see, everyone likes it when I act like an underdog and I’m like super nice and dumb? Well if that’s what you see and what you know about me? You know nothing, even a single shit. Kindness is my defense mechanism. And I am fucking getting tired of it. I don’t want to be mad, really. Because when I am mad, I tend to throw everything and push people away. And there is no turning back. And I don’t like that, I am even afraid with myself, of what can I do. Because when everything’s fucked up, I’ll fuck it more up, all the way. And I don’t know what to do about that. I don’t know if I want them to know about that. Or maybe not. I don’t want my walls to be crushed down with some irrelevant creatures. And the worst thing is, I know all of it, I know what they’re thinking, or feeling, or showing, as if I am just a shadow behind them. The worst is, I don’t even fucking care.