fuck right the hell off.
i can’t fucking tell you how many times i’ve sat elbows to knees, head to palms, and lost my mind trying to figure out what the fuck is wrong with you.. and despite every sincere attempt to make sense of this, I can only find myself writing you off as a hopeless fucking lunatic..
you’ve got more issues than a years subscription to straight jacket hourly.
i can’t even pretend that you are my friend.. what has happened to you and i?
and don’t say that I have changed, because, man, of course I have.
