"That's the worst expression of you this morning," she said.
"Did you sleep last night? Do you smoke some crack?" he asked.
"Are you okay?" they asked.
I'm not okay, Goddammit.
It's not about the war on drugs.
No, I wouldn't argue about that either.
It's not about people.
It's about me.
I'm starving for oxygen.
I live in a society where crazy is the normal.
I can't quit you.
I'm running out of time.
I believe in monsters.
Yes, they're exist.
They live in your body,
in my body.
It's not the monsters I should be afraid of.
It's their hearts,
their eyes,
and how they howl.
Emotions and barking dogs,
those things are polluting my heart.
Fear and suicidal thoughts,
those things are poisoning my mind.
The beauty of the moon won't ever mesmerize anymore.
The heat of the sun won't hurt me that much.
I don't have a choice,
they don't even give me one.
I loaned them my heart.
I gave them my soul.
I let them bite me for hours.
They killed me but they won't bury my body.
I forgot.
In this realm,
Everyone simply believes whatever they feel good about believing.
They don't care about being human too, sometimes.
One night,
I tried to listen to a voice.
A voice so quiet, so soft.
Integrity.
All I want is,
a lasting impression on people.
So they throw me a bunch of flowers,
not dead bodies.
"No one's going to get hurt if you do what you're told."
True, and fuck you.
I want my mornings and my nights back.
Help me, I really need some help.
I've been committing mass atrocities since I was a child.
I'm a heavily armed soldier.
Do you understand now?
This is the black dog of depression.
