Originally Posted by LaSarthe

All my anger, all my hatred goes into the pedals. Wind cuts my face and burns my lungs and there is no slowing down. We are not all interconnected. Some people on this earth do not need to exist. Some people just need killing. I would kill them.

F*ck you and your cushy 6 figure, get rich slow scheme job
F*ck you and your smoking hot f*ckbuddy, yeah that blonde one with the rack
F*ck you and you and everyone you know. Our lives are not even remotely comparable.

In the rage there is not even a suggestion of pacing. Only acceleration. Anger. Speed. Anger. Speed. I'm not going fast to win any race. I'm not going fast to even push myself physically. And the hurt starts to creep in; slowly at first but the pain becomes apparent and no matter how much hatred I channel into dying legs, only so much more speed results.

I am finally broken, a deathgrip on the handlebars white knuckled, utter delirium forcing me to a dead halt.

I am sane again until my rage builds. Then I ride.