You're a fucking fraud, the worst kind of liar. That's right, I am spitting venom for the first time at you, and I hope it hits you right between the eyes again and again. Living anxiously inside your straw house you built in the hope that someone would blow it down, so you could put pen to paper and so you could profit. Then repeating the process.

The knife was in my back and it took days, weeks, months before I felt it, it just took the right twist for me to bleed. Persistence gets me nowhere, gets you everything you wanted. It's only fitting you put on so many masks, you act with such abandon, in such an old fashioned way that we've all forgotten how to pre-empt the narrative.

How will I EVER get back to where I was? If my fire was set to the tiniest grains of your sand, I know we would only grow into glass and become able to shatter. But the shards would be beautiful, they would be sharp, they would be something I'd hold onto until they got under my skin like you did.

The movies told you anything but the truth. They wanted the worst for you because it was best for them. Populating the child with hollow men and women, empty words born from bankrupt ideas. I think you should feel like the biggest star of all. I am your audience, and I want my money back, and I want my time back, and I want so much back, and I want you gone right now.

This is starting to feel like a set up. Clue me in, I'd laugh if I got the point.