“Well, come now, what do you care about really? Don’t you care about anything? How can you be a good poet and not care about something?”

9:18am, August 8th 2014

No one gives a **** about you until you're dead. False ******* care the moment you try to **** yourself. Social pity.
Who the **** tries to understand? As if suicidal thoughts could be fixed with simple solutions.
Deal out pills, deal out sympathy. Doe eyes and white lies. Plaster symptoms with normality. Useless ******* advice.
I'd rather disappear than watch a crowd of strangers gather at my funeral.

Inspired by: https://topshelfrecords.bandcamp.com/album/stranger-songs
https://deathwishinc.bandcamp.com/album/i-v