hatred.

red.
red is where I am and where I burst endlessly. almost unstoppable.
a heart, organs in their flight hatred is a blinding plague , a Japanese torture methoda, things in the world widely agreed on.
I hate you. I loath you, I disdain your pathetic, pathological, half crept, unoriginal, full of empty judgement and misplaced pride existence.
I hate you. for your stains on literature you`re constant assumptions of immeasurable self worth, and  enexplainable superiority.
you know how to write a washed out, every `90s romantic comedy`s cleche` metaphor, imagery, simile.
please, do not purge all over my heart with you`r attempted romanticism.
I appreciate attempts at writing, I truly do. I appreciate every being that tries to convey their existence, experiences with words.
but that, and the nobleness of that dosenot begin to fucking describe you.
yes, for you I shall bang on my keyboard angryly and make endless mistakes because you come in the exact package of things I despise to witness. and then, and most conveniently, you say: "hello world, I am a writer, and I am here to fucking guide you"
you dont write! you criticize in a half-assed glamorized way, and in the most largest of contraries to the very concept of art, you appose- not directly so, just so no one would notice, but trust me bitch, I do.- of anything that dears to be different.
I ramble and my hatred isnt exactly rational.
but that is the very point of hatred, its a bundled ramble over and over again of unreasonable emotion, tinted and painted with nothing but fiery red.
I fucking hate you.
and that is it, you`r unharmed, and I am on fire.