I hate when people ask me if I’m mad at them, or if I hate them.
If you have to ask me brah, the answer is most likely a strong yes.

People really get deleted from my life so fast.

It’s crazy, like they think I am really too nice to just drop them. Or ruin them if it so pleases me.

But clearly, these are people who I don’t allow to know me well.

I really fucking hate you.
You’re a hypocritical sorry excuse for a human being with a victim complex.
Shit ain’t cute.
Stop.

I hate it when people assume I don’t understand how they feel, just because I don’t give a fuck.

I understand exactly how you feel, and you’re just a selfish little girl with some pathetic problems. You don’t have real issues, no you’re life is quite nice. And if you’re unhappy with the way things have turned out, you’re the only one you can blame.
But no it’s so much easier to play the victim, maybe people will pity you. That’s much easier than you having to do something. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t like the attention anyway.

Fuck you.

“I used to be bisexual, I’m not anymore, but I think it’s cool you have a girlfriend.”

You’re such an ungrateful whining cunt. Please die.

It’s not that I have a list of people I hate, it’s that I have a very small list of people I don’t wish would die in a napalm fire.  

I hate you, I hate you so fucking much I can’t even think straight.

In general, 99.9% of the human race irritates me to the point of literally wanting to murder.
I think that’s bad.