Fucking.with.Me

Where is the point where something actually means something now? Who is really the fool that keeps trying to fervently hope when in the end it's all just games played by the strings of whoever has this kind of sense of humor? I'm told it's a testament of caring and the product of a better tomorrow when the patterns, the signs and the predicaments are all just intentions of what a fruitful next day is. Tomorrow. Hope. Next day. It's getting better. Tomorrow. Hope. Next Day. It's better. Patterns. Delusions.

Here I am. I am a part of this sick and twisted lesson being taught time and time again. Here I am too obstinate, too apparently stupid to learn my lesson. Keep playing your strings.

Keep fucking with me.

Teach me the lesson, the cliches, and the fallacies of people of my past. I know these lessons, and I have not learned them well.

Everyone are just reflection of tainted dreams of yesterday. Everyone are just here to fuck with me.

Keep making me pay for the things I didn't do.

Thanks. I really fucking appreciate it.