Future Generations.

Sometimes I wish a day would go by where I didn’t feel this hopelessness come across me in waves, hit the bottom of my soul like a stone thrown to the bottom of a river, leaving only a small ripple on the surface, but a tubular storm inside.

Beyond the hopelessness comes an anger, an anger so great I want to grab her hair, hold her head still while I drive me knee repeatedly into her face, until I feel a crunch, a shattering, a submissiveness, a giving way. Then I’d let her drop to the floor, watch her writhing and eventually pass out, before giving her a couple of sharp kicks to the back of her head and neck, just for good measure.

But I’m not a violent person. I don’t DO violence. But I do think about it a lot. What I would do. Especially to that bitch. And the other one – T. Ah, T. How angry you make me. It’s your fault not mine. I’d like to cut your legs off at the thigh, swing your severed legs at your face, haha, you’re kicking yourself in the face.

Then I’d chop your dirty hands off, send your finger tips (and maybe some of your hair) through to post to him, and send the rest of you to the Essex Police. with my address, so everyone would know it was me. because i fucking hate you that much.

You see? I’d never do these things. Although I think I would quite enjoy doing them. I’ll just never have the opportunity. Maybe When you look me in the eye you can see these images rolling through my mind in cinematic style, it’s off putting when in conversation isn’t it.

I learnt what it was to cry the hard way. I learnt most things the hard way. Or from books. Books taught me more then school. The hard way taught me more then school.

And I just spurt it all out, into words, onto paper. All of this is only what I have learnt, what I have been taught. By this world.

So it’s your fault. I’ve been fed on what old punks spit at me.

When I cry my tears are acid rain, and they evaporate straight from my eyes into the air, and go and burn away at someone or something else. A small secretion from the vat of acid inside me, which crumbles part of your soul. My gift to you.

Why am I angry? I am angry because i never get what I want. I know, I know, I know. It’s childish. So what? Are you going to make me grow up? You never wanted to grow up either but you made yourself. I’m the lucky one in all this. You wish you had what I have. This barrel of childish frustration I roll out and slosh around when ever I’m pissed off.

Found pleasure in the filth of punk. What everyone else looked at and was repulsed by, I found hugely appealing, it made me grin broadly. The dirty scabs and bite marks became what I lived for. Its grime laid down thickly in my lungs made me feel so alive.

I have more respect for the emaciated junky then I have for you. You make me want to spit in your face. I hate everything about you and I’ve never even met you. I want to look you in the face, snarl and take your kids money. I’ll kill you if you try and stop me. I’ll waste you.

I’m from generation z. We aren’t the X’s and Y’s of before. We are the Z’s. This is the end. There is nothing you can do to stop us. We rule this world with our chaos. It’s stench makes you vomit every time you turn on your TV, or step out the front door to walk to the newsy.

You hate us back, with your whole mind and body and soul. But there’s nothing you can do about it, with your aged, racked frame, you wish you could turn the clock back twenty years, when you’d have given me a good thrashing. But as you arch over to me, I look you in the face and you feel nervous. You know it’s me going to be giving the thrashing.

Why are Z’s so frightening? Because we have nothing to lose. We are immortal, it is the end of time. It is every woman for herself and every man for the grave.

We respect what is other, not other to ourselves, other to this world. There is nothing left on the face of this planet worth seeing. We have taken, shaken and raped it all. Show me what you like, I will remain unimpressed. I will shrug, and wander off in search of more bitterness. In search of another fire to start.

It all started with the words ‘It’s better to rot then to fade away’.

After that there was no beginning, and no conceivable end.

We are the future generations.