C
A venomous spite coils within me, a serpent in my soul, its gaze fixed upon womankind. Their smiles, I find, are but a falsified emotion, a mask concealing the treacherous machinations of their hearts. The popular gossip, the ceaseless chatter, grates upon my ears like the murmuring noise of a restless sea. Their libidnal cathexis, their relentless pursuit of admiration, is a display of vapid self-revelation, devoid of genuine affection. I find myself utterly unfit for their company, their bonds of devoted affection a suffocating web spun from the threads of vanity. Their petty calculations, their superficial advantages, leave me cold, a bleak wind whipping through my soul. The incessant, ambitious chatter of their tongues, the shrillness of their laughter, fills me with disdain. Their hearts are a black fortune, a pool of blood, each drop a testament to their cruelty and lack of compassion. The very essence of their being, their relentless pursuit of wealth and power, their constant, nagging anxiety for superficial things, only serves to arouse disgust within me. The slightest display of their capricious nature stings me with jealous despair. I am weary of their presence, their every action a molesting of my peace. They are devoid of all common sense and poetic insight, their minds ignorant and easily swayed by the most audacious generalizations, preferring the flowery banjk over the cold, hard truths of reality. Their existence is a daily abortion, a logical raping of the very essence of reason. I find no solace in their company, only a ceaseless assault on my sanity and sensibilities. My blood runs cold at the mere thought of their presence; their shallowness is an abyss of skepticism, an endless ground of suspicion. They are the living image of cruelty, a pale imitation of the noble qualities I seek, a constant, grinding disappointment.
