Story Time. Non-Fiction.

Im a terrible person.
Intimacy makes me sick.
I sat next to that bitch. She wasnt as bitchy as I expected her to be.
All the students of third semester hate me. They have their reasons.
A lot of their marks got deducted cuz of me.
Why do people take feelings so seriously?
Something so temporary shouldn't be given that much importance.
I do terrible things to people just cuz Im bored.
People should know better than to trust me.
Rida keeps talking about karma.
I think Im its next victim.
But then again, life hasn't always been awesome so bring it on bitch.

Getting close to people makes me sick.
Something's seriously wrong with me.
I always kick away genuine awesomeness coming my way and then close the door behind it and lock it and let the awesomeness knock its knuckles out till its flesh is smeared and the skeleton turns into dust.
I are so fucked up up there.

I dont like people who try too hard to be funny. And sensitive people. And needy people. I really hope I dont turn into one. Im tired. I dont want to sleep. I've done something really cunningly stupid and bitchy. Simply because I dint have anything interesting to do.
And that's why I dont like being free. I shouldn't have taken the month off. I always end up doing something stupid and someone always ends up getting hurt. And then I have to hurt them even more to make them feel better.

Say I shoot you in the knee and then say sorry I must leave now and then you beg me to stay and Im like...I dont want to hurt you anymore and then youre like please stay and Im like dude...blood makes me sick and you're confused because it was my idea to throw in some blood and you're like But Im hurt so I feel bad and Im all Okay Ima pull out this bullet now and youre like but theres no anesthesia oh wretched one and Im like 'dude...I've doen this before and youre like no dont touch it Im fine just please dont leave me alone and then I have to tie you down but there are no ropes so I have to use a hammer and nails to pin you down so you dont move and pull out the bullet with pliers and youre screaming and Im ignoring cuz I know you will feel better eventually but you just want it to end and just when you think its over I take out a needle and thread to stitch back the wound and you're like Why are you doing this to me? Im like dude...please...stop being so dramatic and then I fix the wound and leave and you're left with is a scar and hatred.
Yea. That pretty much explains my past week.

Also, I dont like friends who ask for too many favors, no matter how small, too often.