There hasn't been a day gone by since I first said this to you, that my undying romantic dream is to respect and believe in the terrible things you do. Last time I saw you blessed to touch another human's heart when they believed you would remove the rust you just stood in acceptance with palms open knowing you would soon shut your hands. You're a trap for madness. Blessed too, from birth to death, with a magic attracting the most fragile, those mostly broken already. Those farther from full than empty. Now and again I question if you know what you're doing or if you're possessed.
Years later, you're still sitting and spinning where others improved. Boys, toys, and nicotine mixed with THC in the air to breathe. What mattered the most even to those who never spoke the words, you let impress the stress marks on your couch. And here you thought stretch marks and acne scars were the worst of life, and now you've got stretch marks and acne scars, must be due in part to the confidence you'd be no better off. Now you're no better off, than you were before. Now it's five years on, and you've learned nothing more.
I can say Maybe I'd believe you If you weren't so prone to hard stop/restart