Distilled, so unpure and consumed by the opposite.

When facing what is projected as to be right, it turns into spite and hate.

But yet their is contending actions acompanyed by negative consequences, and still, no hope.

Never agreeing with conformity and always enraged by those who follow, never stands for less and the black thoughts of his mind swallows.

neverending emptyness attached to a perminant slate.

Ungratful, burdened with past clash's of pride to keep pressing him away from what is meant to be, and, who he truely is.

This is the first piece of writing I've read on this whole site which actually means something, and is written from the soul. Don't forget to edit out the typos, and then print it off and keep it. Get a few together (around 20) and send them off to a publisher. You may be surprised. It was very good, and you definitely have talent you can work with and build upon. When people say there is no money to be made in poetry, they are wrong.