old concert posters are the decoration of my thoughts each plastered to a bright color with three dollar tickets to see the show you’ve been putting on for so long when i think of what you’ve done to me and how you think of me you went to therapy but when you sank into the mossy couch you let your innermost ideas be the fertilizer and you the seed that planted itself in that room i can’t dig deep enough to get you out and i cannot figure out who you really are why you pull at the layers of everyone just so you can immerse salt in their raw skin and gasp at an empty sorry when they cry out i did my research on what it means to be a psychopath and i think you need some real help maybe a day or two in a padded cell with no form of media you can count the number of wounds you’ve created or think of ways to find sobriety from the attention everyone feeds you no you aren’t depressed you just want to be cause at least then you would have an answer but dear an answer doesn’t help unless it’s the right one and i don’t know everything about you but i know enough to say that things aren’t okay since i met you and the constant craving of approval from everyone is an issue maybe it’s because your daddy issues but dont we all have daddy issues i want to crack the case of you and your missing soul but i have no evidence no witnesses and my only suspect is anyone who feeds you the power to be you anyone who believed your scheme because i know you aren’t who you say you are i’ve seen first hand the deception behind the chocolate eyes and the smile you wear everyday that says i’m sad please help