can't be arsed to think up a title

I can't.

I can barely be arsed to write this, but I just feel so bad... I've gotta get the feeling out somehow.

It's a funny thing--mostly it's just funny that I still haven't figured this out--did ya know, something like 97% of all guys just want to fuck you... and the other 3% don't give a shit. You may as well not exist. Unless they want to bang you (and fancy their chances) you are invisible to every man you meet.

I direct these comments to women, of course, and likely gay guys... but I've had no experience as a gay guy, so I'm just guessing. My experience as a woman, sadly, has led me to the aforementioned (and soon to be repeated) conclusions.

Men are only after one thing. Some of them dress it up, and call it love, because they're so shy/afraid of disease that they want to stick to as few partners as possible, but really, they all just want to get laid.

Just. Just. Just.

I use that word a lot. When really, the situation is anything but just.

It's all so dreadfully unfair.

How can anyone be so ALONE, even when they're surrounded by people?

I can't even dredge up any more anger. There's only weakness left.

Sometimes I think my heart will simply stop; I marvel, in a detached, melancholy way, that it even has the energy left to beat. I can't muster the will required to smile, but, wonder of wonders, my body continues pumping pints upon pints of blood through miles and miles of the organic tubing known as my circulatory system...

There must be a God. I could not summon the strength to live, on my own.