Withdrawing thrice: Once from the world, once from me, once from you, my third, and once my one, and soon to be none.
And I’m done. I’m done with me, and you, and who I once was.
You helped me get sane, but now I need you out of my goddamn brain. It’s hard to concentrate but great to sleep. Well, now I get neither.
I need to slow down. I need to take a break. I need to be less compressed and more awake.
The narcissist defines his cage and measures bounds with tape and rage. His primitive stick, stuck in fear, this dipshit-dipstick is red to whole way.
I really thought that you might be the key that I needed. Now I’m tossing you away in favor of a relapse.
I need you to dissipate because I cling, and you clung. I slumped and let go; after all, it’s all that I know.
I need to take a break. I need to be more awake. I need to find my morals. I need to take a little time. I need to be a man. I need to be in this maze. I need to get straight. I need to conflate. I need to be this man. I need to be this weight. I need to lay away. I need to wake up.