Fuck every last one of you.
This bitter taste in my mouth is such a tragedy. It has caused me to say things and do things one shouldn't dream of. I haven't even anything to be angry about. I just don't understand. I suppose I'll rely on the only solution I know: running away. I'll run from everyone and everything I know, and never look back until I realize I've lost, yet I still haven't gained. I'll soon be in debt to myself. I'll be a negative number, a gambling statistic ... a failure, with nothing, and no one. One could assume at this point, I'd be dead, because afterall, what do you take with you to the grave? nothing but yourself, but I wonder, do I actually posess myself? Do I control my own actions? Do I make my own decisions. No, I don't, it's that bitter taste in my mouth. It is the conductor now, and I'm right back where I started ...