You've got to learn how to soothe yourself, stop feeding the famine of your sadness, or maybe, for once, call it a fraud.

You've got to know how to be the rude host of your pity parties and bounce the overstaying guests, but if they insist on sleeping over, take the fire escape.

You've got to forgive yourself for throwing your words in the sewers of degenerate minds and for the times when your only definition of love meant accepting needles in your heart.

You've got to immerse yourself in something vaster than your existence and cardboard narrative. You've got to stop subsisting on used air. You've got to forgive them for their abysmal human cruelty. Forgive yourself for your own and you've got to start this now, this is not a rehearsal, I REPEAT, there are no rehearsals.