Hatefuck.

I'm sick, and nobody understands the situation. So they speak, like if they knew something; they think they are doing something good for the humanity, or something like that.

'Oh, look at me! I'm doing something for you, my dear friend! Look at me!' That is their motto. But they've never spoken with me. They speak, like if they knew something.

And i dunno if i'm sick of my sickness or if i'm sick of they. To heal, i'm capable of doing bad things. I don't care anything or anybody. It's me, myself, and I. And clothes. And shopping. And money. And parties. And boys. And girls. And sex. And drugs. And Jack Daniels' bottles. Maybe a bit of Smirnoff, Absolute Vodka, or Beefeater Gin. They would be nice too. You don't have to fix me. You don't even have to try to fix me. Don't you understand? Can't you see it? I-DON'T-WANT.

But i will change if you give me clothes, money, parties, boys, girls, sex, drugs and alcoholic comma.