I often wonder where the f*** you are at when you know I don’t love you anymore. Then it occurred to me you’re just as sick and twisted as the rest. You step on people to make yourself feel better, and it isn’t any wonder to me why you’re alone. You won’t admit it, but you’re f****** alone because everyone knows your f****** game. Sometimes I just wonder what the difference is… why I continue to be kind at all. Why when it’s everyone. It’s every f****** last one of you and I don’t give a damn sometimes to see my last day. Just a fight to the f****** finish. I’ll just get old and be a burden to younger able-bodied people. I saw how my grandparents were treated and are treated now. No compassion no love out there to be had. Everybody looking for their f****** handout instead of lending their hand out. B*******. You’re b******* and I don’t care if I never hear of you again.