I have a secret for you, and you won't like it and neither will I. But the deal is, there is no deal. The thing is, you're nothing special and neither is anyone you know. What you are, it's just another joke. All that promise? All that potential? That's a toilet flush away from being nothing.
All that heartache? All that pain? All those heavy feelings that set you apart, all the emotions that make you glow or hide you in shadows? All of that, it's nothing special.
Write your words, sing your songs, cut your cuts, and feel like you want to live or feel like you want to die, and it has all been done before. I promise.
Stronger people than you have lived through it, and weaker people than you have lived through it; and people who are just like you, they've lived through it, too.
What, you're lonely? You're broken? You're ruined? Join the club, you lose-bag. We're all defective, and nobody saved the receipt. We're garage sale goods, or dumpster-dived refuse. We're all stained and sprained and we all smell a little funny, when you get right down to it.
The things you're feeling? That's like picking up eggs at the grocery store. Everybody does it, and they don't waste time analyzing it.
What do you want? Attention? Hope? A hug and a cookie?
Piss off. If I give it to you, you're just another pacified whiner. You're just another weeping eye, another satiated baby, another leaking fuckhole in the gene pool.
So here's what I give you: a chance to be better. A chance to stop your whining and your whimpering. A chance to stop feeling sorry for yourself and expecting a reward for it. I give you a chance to prove yourself and be something truly amazing.
I give you a harsh spotlight and a chance to quit crying.
Take it or leave it, I don't give a shit.