Silent killer it is.

When there are so many things inside my head... it's deafening. There are so many things I wish to say, I wish to curse, I wish to blurt out to just slice people's emotions - not for the intention of hurting an innocent person, of course, but to get that feeling into the people who deserve it. I want - I guess everyone WANTS those "deserved" people to feel some sort of pain so that the satisfaction shall be absorbed into our psyche, and justice is proclaimed as served, virtuously. On the other side of the coin, in reality part of the universe, where these justifications do not happen, where cruellas dwell and marvel in obnoxious oblivions, the affected receivers of the result of such ugly personality feel but try with all available might to push away the reserved anger, shame, dissatisfaction, though simultaneously allow their conscientiousness to hold them back from committing offenses defined by law. Hence the outcome of death of all the nice, helpless, powerless people on earth by the popular silent killers. These killers - the chains of stress which progressively and sometimes abruptly build up in one's moods, the tense that rises in one's chest - these things are silent, especially when all that the one under tremendous amount of stress displays are silent typing on the keyboards, an indication to the eyes of those seeing, perception of those perceiving as working  one's way into the success - a term defined by whom the common reference to the adjacent of a genital needs to be metaphorically kissed - and the reluctant but mandatory loyalty attitude like a canine would have, combined with unnecessary obsequiousness which slowly but surely bury their sense of moral, loosen the grasps on the principles one once used to honor and believe - are responsible of taking one's life, should they be granted a chance, consciously or subconsciously, or worse, under any influence.