When you caught me crying in the living room, you asked me "is everything okay?"
I told you I didn't know.
I couldn't afford to eat, my body wouldn't let me in the first place.
I broke down.
Tried to comprehend all the shit that I've done, all the people I ever knew.
I'll probably never get this right, begging for something to say.
But these people keep me from holding up in a bed, with sheets like armor.
I hope you don't quit some pathetic fuck like I've become.
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