If I could be honest with you, I mean, really, really honest, I'd tell you how lately, several times a day I have to forcibly keep myself from downing my generous cache of oxy and xanax, more out of terror at an uncertain future, than simple hopelessness.
If I could be honest with you, I mean, really, really honest, I'd tell you how the only way I can see myself surviving beyond this, or any given week, is if somebody came along and took me by the hand and promised to help me to navigate this nightmare world as if I was a child.
If I could be honest with you, I mean, really, really honest, I'd tell you how I'm as terrified that someone will offer me help, as I am that no one will.
If I could be honest with you, I mean, really, really honest, I'd tell you how what terrifies me is the thought that whoever offers me help will come to realise that I'm a fraud of a human being
Not even plastic, but paper
So easily torn
So easily torn to shreds.
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