loathe

cant stand amongst the strife. torn like a pratts knot, half and half, all ill ever be. am i nothing more than a slapstick? i’ll meet you at the end of your joke and carry you into the next conversation, since that seems to be your favorite topic of discussion. tease me, prey me, and downplay it as low as you can. ill walk the eyes you roll at me so often. you say I can’t handle a lot of things, at least i have a grasp on the reality i live in. the comedy relief until the relief is relied on, only then do i amount as more than the words that come out of my mouth. i can’t neglect what you say or how you treat me, especially in assembly.