Yes I am sleeping in here tonight.
And it is true I am writing again.
Attempts to communicate, compromise,
Tolerate, have failed like good ideas:
Practically useless and foppish.
I am simply complex, and my head hurts
From psychotherapy and coping.
We are both selfish and immature,
Egotistical bastards, spineless jelly
In the face of adversity.
An oboe, a flat reed
And symphony for a blade of grass.
Duh.
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