Lets not **** around anymore; you feel pain.
You have to learn to be alone.
You're weak.
It takes practice.

I've invested a lot of time in trying to make an us
out of a me. I am so very empty.
After a year, I'm still a stranger in your home.
You distance yourself, and next
yeah you'll run.

I ******* see it.
Future? Me?
Nobody stays for this.
Nobody wants this.
Mood swings, erratic behavior,
late nights, crying, crying,
thoughts of suicide,
dependency,
nobody
wants
this.

Nobody wants me.

Two days ago you broke down at 12am
in the aisles of the supermarket, crying.
Swore every set of headlights that danced
by you was another set of eyes to
see you through to nothing.

Spent the next night awake and laughing,
quiet as a mouse,
except the repetitive cackle
and spite for all things.
You lost your mind.
You're scared kid.

Scared of losing.
Tired of losing.
Always braced for losing,
too stiff to just take the next step.
Haunted by your own shadow.

Nobody wants an insane person.
A walking corpse.
A MANIC.
A ****-up.
A dead-beat.

Austin Heath.
They come looking for you sometimes,
but the reality is so much more terrible.
The reality is so much less than mediocre.
No one cares.