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Rated: 18+ · Prose · Biographical · #1071798
I still don't know what this is.
Was I supposed to cry when weeping was a sign of the times? Or was I simply too distraught when things came easy?

I don't expect you to understand what those words mean. You think things are hard, with your religion going to hell in a handbasket, your boss not giving you the raise you wanted, and who could forget that coffee you spilled over that brand-new suit you just bought.

Ha ha ha ha. Fuck you. If you could see me, I'd be raising both middle fingers up to salute your dumbass.

Do you really think that the every day crap you screw up is hard? Since I'm not one of you, I have the unique perspective of not being blinded by your human bullshit.

Laborers who sewed the clothes and shoes you're wearing for twenty hours straight, and fifty cents an hour, that's hard. That's work that you die from after a few years. And that's just the third world workers you hear about every so often, and eventually tune out.

You don't know anything about the African diamond miners. Diamonds aren't expensive because they're rare. Diamonds are expensive because most of them are obtained through wars. That big ass gem you have in your ears or on your fingers probably got someone killed in a scurmish in eastern or southern africa. Blood diamonds are called that for a reason.

I could go on and on about the people that suffer because of your greed, but I don't have that much time to waste.

I think I'll just flick you off again instead.
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