Columbine shooters | Dylan Klebold | Dylan's writing | Dylan's journals and diaries
Dylan Klebold's Journal
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Fuck that --> Dylan Klebold
Fuck ev.


Me. sorry I didn't write, A SHITLOAD in my existence mist. Ok... hell & back... ive been to the zombie bliss side... & I hate it as much if not more than the awareness part. I'm back now.... a taste of what I thought I want... wrong. Possible girlfriends are coming then [edited].. I'll give the phony shit up in a second. want TRUE love.... I just want something i can never have.... true true I hate everything. why can't I die... not fair. I want pure bliss... to be cuddling w.
, who i think i love deeper than ever... I was hollow, thought I was right. Another form of the Downward Spiral... deeper & deeper it goes. to cuddle w. her, to be one w. her, to love; just laying there. I need a gun. This is a wierd entry... I should feel happy, but shit brought me down. I feel terrible. [Sketch of a "thought box" labeled 'TB'] The Lost Highway apparently repeats itself. I want drink. now.
lucky bastard gets a perfect soulmate, who he can admit FUCKIN SUICIDE to & I get rejected for being honest about fuckin hate for jocks. From the wrong people maybe...
.. Anyway... heres a 2 poems...

Awareness signs the warrant for suffering. why is it that the zombies achieve something me wants (overdeveloped me). They can love, why can't i? The true existence lives in solitude, always aware, always infinite, always, looking, for, his love. Peace might be the ultimate destination... destination unknown... i want happiness. Abandonment is present for the martyr. my thoughts exist in, want to exist live in. I want to find a room in the great hall & stay there w. my love forever. sadness seems infinite, & the shell of happiness shines around. Yet the true despair overcomes it this lifetime. How tragic too my

I HATE SHIT motherfuckin
goddam piece of death
thought and nothin

No emotions. not caring.
yet another stage in this
shit life. suicide... Dylan Klebold