Have you ever laid on the floor, as you stared at the cosmos of paranoia and depression of your creation thrusting you into damnation?
You are quick to give advice (pre-judgement),
but unless you licked the patch,
    to cover the constant itch that burns in your heart,
       you have no clue. . .
of the sea of solitude that ever wraps you, within its cursed cradle,
  the song of longing as each day passes, grows louder,
      the voices in your head that counsel you,
           the feeling of elation as the demons take you. . .
you have no clue. . .
   no ******* clue. . .
you are quick to judge. . .
      as I die living. . . in a state of constant elation.