The Song writer's Journal

the feeling

My journal I found it half burnt and ripped up. Who knows what happened to it. I can use it. I can kill with it with put the dirty work. But I love the dirty work. Well fuck the journal. I walk about mile then I find a street. Full of houses with families. Beautiful innocent families perfect for killing. Oh the joy this thought gives me. I love it. Love it to Death. And that death I shall use to kill them all of them. For joy and the happiness it gives me. I have never felt so good in my whole fucking life it's so addicting. So kill them I will and if they try to stop me they will get it worse. Just how life is not the perfect life but harsh life teenage and adult hood. Because no one should have it easy. Oh the murder. How good it feels. Ahh I love it I love it to death. The arrow through their hearts is my favorite part the blood gushes every where. Oh how much the thick red liquid exists me. It give me peace and happiness but yet people are scared . I Wonder why I hope they know its really fun. Why don't they try. All well its their loss . I was done killing the street's people. When I walked into him. The heart breaker cute sycopathic boy. Bloody painter how dare he walk on my grounds. After what he did to me I have no fucking idea why I still love him. I guess I'm just waiting for him to love me back and he will. Sooner or later. But the first words that came out of his lips is ''why do you do this I hate you .'' How dare he say that especially to me. I mean I killed my self because of him and he just faked his skinny ass out of it. Or did he mean the killing because that just feels good and filled the hole in my heart that he put in my heart. He would never understand him and his fuck boy fake ass. He will never understand or will he ?