Bitter description

You are dead to me, the storybook fantasies. How stupid you make others be. The fact that people have this idea of what you may be. It's atrocious, the way it makes some people ferocious. It's wicked, painful and deceitful. When you don't work, you make the hate come out in people. The shit I went through to find you, when I was young, but instead I had to bite my tongue. Cause I never found you and you never found me. It seems that we push away any compatibility. The ugly is what comes out if you ever walk through the door. I'd rather not be held up on a pedestal, I'd rather be pressed against the floor. People always think of shit so sweetly, why don't you just work independently? All you are is needy, greedy, too giving or try too hard. And for what? Just so you can let down your guard? I break my walls down on my own time, I don't need you to make considerations or tell me that I'm a swine. So be it, sorry I don't believe in all your bullshit. And that your followers are hopeless, my call in life isn't to make you my accomplice--in life. My call is to survive without depriving, I'm striving, hiding, diving--into the depths where u couldn't hear a soul cry, my call is to always keep my head above and never ever give a mother fuck about love.