Rage.

Idiocy. Bloody idiocy. Stupid acts of stupid, petty people, maligning me. And who I am. The things I stand for. For no better reason than the dirty, selfish, satisfaction that comes from watching a lie pass muster. I hate her, and all she's done. She does this because she's bitter. But she chose. She chose to leave, and I was decent enough to be friendly after. She abuses my trust, abuses everything she ever meant to me; she is the dirty filth of the universe, amalgamated into a human person.

I couldn't have done that which she says I did. I wasn't there. I didn't want to. Everyone who knows me well knows that this isn't something I'd do. Unfortunately, there are enough who do not know me well, but know of me. And they spread this vicious slander for their own purposes. One takes the higher road and ignores this shit. That is all one can do; that's all I can do. Yet, the desire to drain the lifeblood of those who attempt to destroy who you are and what you stand for is great. The desire to take their lives, to destroy them utterly, to reduce them and all they hold dear to motes of dust scattered amongst the winds. They know not my rage, that which I keep bottled inside. They know not what they do. I ask not for my father to forgive them, as did another forgiver in the past; I ask myself to see fit to ignore these base creatures. I know I want to destroy. But once again, I control. I rein in my passions, for I wish to better myself.

The world shall never hear of this again. Nor shall I speak of it. But if I am crossed just once more - ONCE - I know not what harm I shall bring to them or upon myself. But whatever harm that is - so be it. I cannot be expected to control everything. I pride myself upon my need to satisfy self and principle.

My bloodlust threatens to consume me. Why did this have to happen? What did I do wrong? There is no God, nor no heavenly being, nor no fate from some life past. Just idiotic, selfish minds, pursuing momentary pleasures.

Should I tell people of all the things that were said? All the things she sought? All the lies she told? All the words she used? All the passions she begged for? I keep my peace, and my counsel. This is where a man of honor suffers. I don't pretend to be one, but in this I know why they suffer. Because no one holds themselves to the standards of others. And they use the moral gaps to exploit the goodness of other.

Either she shall be punished, or she shall not. Fate shall decide. The future beckons me. Let her die in the past, rotting in the thoughts of what has come and gone.

I am a survivor. I have been through worse. This will make me harder. I'm looking forward to it.

The Life and Times of an Unfinished Melody

They get taken right out of your head. Like drops of condensation on the window. There a second; next, all one sees is a trail against the window, and the world outside looks just a little ... off where the trail is. Small, slippery, treacherous thoughts. The ones we can never be truly be rid of. The easy way out. The lonely path. The way to what might be peace, if you are a coward and scared of doing the right thing.

Sometimes I wish I was someone else. Something else. Just different enough to be in peace. Just happy enough to be real and live. Just for an instant. But I betray myself. Every second that I'm alive, I betray my own desires and wishes to just be. But if I were anything else, I would hate myself. This, I know. Sometimes, I marvel at the ability of my mind to change things about me easily. Unfortunately, the mind is the instigator of this sort of behaviour, and this sort of dilemna.