I guess the misery is a weakness, spread it around like love paying itself forward and wonder why it never makes its way back to me. Well, people don’t like the edges of the way your madness rubs against them, it’s too sharp, you try too hard, you don’t try enough, you’re not enough. But you think you’re too much sometimes. And it’s pathetic really. Giving so much of yourself away as though it’s a gift anyone would be honored to have. You are full of shit. No one wants to unwrap that package to see what’s inside because the poison spills out with one look. There’s no mystery, no guess what the big surprise is… it’s clear. Transparent as anything ever could be, your self loathing is predictable, your self love is loud and mute all at once. It hurts my ears the way you talk to yourself. Get off your fucking knees like a plead that doesn’t know how to stop screaming. Stand up and pull it together, snap out of the self induced shit show. The audience is gone. Find your footing again. Walk again… open your eyes again.. live again. Live again. Love yourself. I dare you. I fucking dare you.