the phone rings not for me but for whoever they thought I am. I am not him or her. I am not me. It is him who is me, him who is whom you are looking for. the he who writes with hope is the same he I was. whoever that was, I made sure to kill him. there was honesty, weakness and love. there was many, plenty and hope. now, that the fear is gone, the person I am, writes not from the heart but from a place to dark and cold to care about the opinions of people who do not know who they are. it is not hard to tell or easy to be mistaken. people are not what they say. people are not who they seem to be. people are nothing but waste of oxigen or ashes on a ash tray. if love ever lived, it would've married hate. love and hate are opposite faces of the same coin. just like water and olive oil. the difference in me and you is that although we both share the same side of the same coin, you do not know wich side of the coin you reside. like an ignorant question, tends to be answered, so will you. i think not from a higher place but from a lower one. i have accepted the hallowness inside of me and i embrace the anger i feel towards whatever has become of humanity and their children. i was failed. not by one for by every person I have met. in my darkest hours i wish for doom to fall like a meteor on the apocalyse that once befell our planet. so, rain, darkness and blood. sulfour and death.