Texty: Ninety Pound Wuss. Short Hand Operation. What I Am.

develop a taste for portrayal. see there is a need and see that the need is met. grasp that there is a hope and find hope to begin again. look through me, see something in me. see some good for once. for it could've been worse. feel my throat swallowing reason and these nerves pushing blood. anguish, i can't cope with the notion of what i've become. you say it couldn't be better. i say it only gets worse. i'll close my mind off. openness is something so awkward. i want you to be here now. your emotions are cold. this could lead to destruction and it always does. evidence of a transgretion has be clearly designed. since step one we've exercised guilt as rebellion. throwing away all that's substantial. no longer is there relative reason of permanent existence at all. what happens when your demands fall through and power becomes your weakness? which in turn becomes the doubt i've had all along. i am and i will not function anymore. this is what i am, this is what i am, this is what i am, this is what i am