Q & A

"Where do you get your inspiration?"
Up my arrogant bipolar asshole.
"It's so natural."
Because it comes so fluently from my loud mouth.
"What's it like?"
Like my stomach got dropped kicked
and my heart got tackled just before the 50 yard line.
"You're beautiful"
No, I'm not. I've aged incredibly because I cry so much.
And 8 hours or more out the day I bottle my shit up
and send it off to sea because god fucking damn it
I will not be vulnerable to the people who make me weep.
"It'll be fine"
It's a pre-dug grave in my honor. The tombstone
is up and every day shit gets worse because someone,
something wants me in it. But I won't move. Because you
make me feel guilty about what I don't understand yet.
About depression and about feeling.
"Are you okay?"
Mother fucking no, I'm not. I'm dying of a broken heart,
my head is full of sick suicidal thoughts, I can't write,
I can't sleep, I can't smile sincerely and I can't create.
I can't survive and I need someone to listen.
But damn, that's hypocritical. I can't even talk.
I can't express and I can't verbalize shit all because
no one taught me how. I'm growing up so fast.
A mental age of 21-25 who doesn't know how to talk
about my problems.
"Do you wanna talk about it?"
Do you wanna listen or do you wanna hear.
There's a difference between feeling in the loop, feeling trusted
for your own egocentric and big headed gain and looking me in the eyes
because you care.
Because it's me, not my problems.
People don't wanna fix people, they wanna fix
problems.
People are challenges.
And let's face it, were lazy.
Were better than your shit or yours, or yours.
"Smile"
Make.Me.