The scales have tipped from empathy to apathy.
Another deep conversation that results in no gain.
Feel better; feel like you're helping. Give me good advice.
I'm glad you feel better.
I'll fall asleep, again, racked by an aching heart and soul.

This gothica doesn't suit me. You'll never walk by me thinking, "That boy needs to be happier."
You'll never see the pain behind my eyes; I hide too well.
Masters of Disguise: a brotherhood with no members.
How about I come at this more directly?

The guilt and remorse at having broken the only thing I cared about: Her.
The pain that seeps from my chest because I won't just let it out.
The anger and despise that I'm the only one being blamed for any of it.
These are my most familiar emotions; and they have no place except on this page.

How do people do this? How do you feel better? Where do you hide your pain, and who the **** cares? When I bare my soul, it's abused; when I hide it away, I'm abused. There's no escape. "Do it the way I did it." I'm not you. I'm me. Care without understanding. Don't fix me, congratulate that I want to fix myself.

Don't be an apathetic *******.