Today a man spoke to me; a drunkard, telling me what I should and shouldn't do. A part of me felt like a child again. Responding to others with that silence, they barely mean a thing in that moment.
Once I got home, I couldn't help but think about who he thought he was, what reason he had to tell me this. Out of want for respect, decency? In a world full of drunkards, murderers, perversions, and death.
Insanity pocketed in beings who believe they are sane, telling others that they should also be sane.
Tellmewhatthatis.
Another language.
A shape.
A joke.
A man who stumbles through life, for the next alcoholic fix, until his eventual death.
No one would care in the end. They all speak the same careless language at the end of the days. We sleep alone with ourselves regardless of who is there.

So what would be the point of me listening.
Why should I feel ashamed of doing something I wanted to do, when we're all going to die someday?