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I fell in love at the psych ward
another one of God's cruel games

It's a shame isn't it? How we all just want to tell our lies to the point we don't remember their falsehood. How we all just want to make a home on the cross and be admired from below, looking down from up above on our fabricated pedestal. Victimhood is a currency in these states, and I am living for the fame, baby, so don't trust a word I say. Not that you would anyway. The doctors tell me it's an overactive mind and the whirling of a fan, but I swear I can hear you behind my back: "she's just crazy." I can read your mind behind your dismissive eyes when I tell you my truth. Which leads me to believe you were never too interested in any of that bothering your day.                 Unrelated question what would you do for your friends and family, and how long do you think you could survive urban warfare, really?

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