No, You're Not.

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“No, you can't be dude. You laugh all the time, you're hilarious. You're not...”

“Okay, fine. Go ahead and read these. It's five pages worth of m-”

“Poems won't make a point. I need more than some crap that you threw up when you were-”

“Just read. I promise this will prove it.”

...

“See, I told you they were some useless poems. You're not d-”

“They're not just poems, I spewed my guts into this. Can't you see that I killed myself for this. I killed everything I stood for. I killed it all.”

“Then why are you saying these things…”

“I killed everything but my shame. It's still here killing what's left. It'll be the last to go, you know how shame is… It kills everything, it eats you up like candy. It rips you to shreds then spits on your dignity. You meet shame anywhere there is life, everywhere there is hope for a new start.”

“Well why didn't you ask for help before this?”

“I did, you were standing right there when I said I was killing myself, when I said I was miserable I sung my songs of sorrow till the sun rose but you didn't listen. You heard but didn't listen. My pain flew over your head, I suffered and you sat and lied to me. You said you loved me, that I would get help.”

“This is your fault, you didn't ask for the help you needed. Subtle hints are not going to get across to them, we needed a different approach and you didn't take it. I said you're hilarious, but I realize that's my part to play. You, attempt, to write, and I make us look good. I'M THE PUBLIC ONE! I get the attention, you get the pain. If you needed help, ask for it, don't wait. That's your responsibility. You only have yourself to blame.”






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