"Would it be alright if I maybe taunted you to sleep or ridiculed you for the way your life turned out? Attack your insecurities so deep. Remember a time you didn't hate your life or pout? You'll whine, complain life's lame, moan, cry and sulk, you kids are all the same. I'll sit perched upon your shoulder, that fairy fuck opposite me is not coming. I know you think your problems weigh more than I will ever give you credit for. But as your conscience I still say that you're a nothing, worthless brat. Would it be ok if I just solidified your self-hatred and your doubts of the devine? You know deep down that search for meaning in this life is asinine. You're just what father said, you've got no hopes no reason you can find to hold credence to hopes that you endlessly try to justify. I know you think your problems weight more than I will ever give you credit for, but as your conscience I still say that you'e a nothing, worthless--"
I hate how I will try to instigate debate with my own voice, I'll try to convince, although quite late, that my fate is shapeable and malleable, manipulated only by the rational. A concept oft unfathomable yet forever makes attempts at the intangible. Amid a myriad of deprecation speech, propagated by a household nurturing defeat. I'll never stop 'til I can navigate this fleet and I'm the only one controlling thoughts along this street of mine.