gotta feel something, right?

punch. keep going. again. again. again.

don't stop. don't you *ever* fucking stop. even when your body betrays you, don't you dare stop the assault, keep punching through to feel something, to feel anything, to feel the

anger.

not at them. it's not their fault, after all, that you're gullible, soft, easy to manipulate; not anyone else's fault that you're a whiny piece of shit. you won't last much longer anyway. but it's not their fault. not the world's. not anyone else's

but yours.

it's yours.

feel that rage that takes form in stinging on your skin, warm, hot blood dripping in rivulets down knuckles, lusting for the floor. might as well, at least. while you still can.