you liar.
false-hope giver, dream-breaker, love-ensurer, magic envisioner.
of course, the least juvenile of us all.
and yet your words still emanate,
maybe not even in a room at all.
but you're on the road,
and i'm nowhere near it,
next to a curled-up version of primeval life.
what the fuck did you think i would do?
if i've got what i need, and what i heard in those notes,
reverberating throughout the room next to the flashing lights,
then i'm just going to have to fucking use it, don't you think?
you fake.
dissolver,
user.

i can't stand you.
not now.
not after what you've fucking done.



you'll be let go shortly.