I'm going to do it on my own.


I'm going to have friends. I'm going to keep friends. And I'm going to be a friend. A good fucking friend. Unfortunately, this takes two. For now, project postponed. You're pathetic.





I'm going to get healthy. I'm going to get help. And I won't let it ruin everything I have. I will grow up, and I will be strong, and pleasant to be around. Unfortunately, I've yet to find the courage. You're pathetic.




I will be a good friend. I will be needed. I am needed. Am I needed? I'm breaking promises right and left, with each stagger, my broken steps. I reach for a hand, but the request spills truth from my mouth painting my mural on your chest. It is for you to see, but it peels. You forget the picture and I forget the purpose. Then we forget the colors once painted underneath the surface.

I am too vain to admit that I really have no place to go. So I invite myself into your friendships, into your society, and I pray that one day you'll ask me to stay. Take solace, my vanity had begun to rapidly fade. I'll not give you trouble much more.