You tell me how it is that I should think, or what it is that I should say to you. You always find a way to disappoint me or tell me lies. If there was anything that I’d care to admit, it would that you provided far too much safety and I enjoyed it too much. You like to think that you can get blood from a stone.  You like to think that you are infinitely wiser than I am, but I let you think that. I toy with you and get your defenses down and then insert cancer into that big and perfect bloodstream of yours.

It bugs me sometimes that you perceive yourself as intelligent and you always try to take things that don’t belong to you. Sometimes I feel crazy for not understanding or liking you. I feel like that one insane person with “fragile” tattooed across a lifeless grey body. You make me feel so cold when I think about things. But, I know your tricks to gain my sympathy or attention and this cold nature actually provides sustenance sometimes, even if it can feel empty more often than not. What happened to me? I used to be excited and hopeful. I used to be more than a useless shell. What happened? I used to say ‘Carpe Diem’ and mean it, but now I just regret tomorrow before it happens. You hate the way that I look at you. Looking at you the way I do makes you feel guilty. Looking at me makes you feel sickness, like cancer, inside your bloodstream. This is a non-tangible future without working parts and a pair of broken street signs – like the aftermath of a holocaust only less bright. I reload the gun again – tapping the inside of my glass with my nicotine stained index finger.