I know it stresses you out, sorry for that. I'm beginning to crave new catharsis, 'cus writing songs is getting old. I'll start creating my own problems, and setting fire to my clothes, and when that gets old like it always does maybe I'll find new friends to hate. I can unfairly compare them to old ones and never let myself forgive. The stars are so pretty tonight, I prayed you'd say they look a bit like me. I heard you quit, I know things are changing. When did I become so tiresome to be around? Swear I used to have more hopeful things to say, but I'm at a low point, I'm not gonna lie. My brain feels so poisoned even though so much is right. I never dreamt my skin would be this underwhelming to sit in. For all the work I did to make my bones a home they barely fit. Trauma fixations convince me it's not depression, it's fucking grief, 'cus I feel a whole lot. I feel far too much of this. Doctor (unintelligible) knows these thoughts are draining me, but sometimes despair feels so comfortable, so right. I don't think I want it to, but I can't tell anymore. I always feel like such a man when I can only see things so logically. Is that a fucked up thing to feel? It's hard to believe you, it's hard to believe in you. Like hell I wish I was idly watching my lungs deteriorate. The air is fine and I've got a long way to ride this out 'til the end. I was never a crier, but none of you seem to mind, and it's nice to know I'll always be the sister you all found. Thank you all for reminding me of my worth. I know it stresses you out, sorry for that. Broken light in the city, we're running through a summer day. For every day that I have spent on learning to grow from my mistakes, now letting go gets easier. At least we're alone now, all of us. I will stop wishing for my death at every sign of discontent, through every smile and every tear that went over my head. Give myself time, and some more credit for every day I wake up sad and still get out of bed. I will get out of bed.