I this time because I’ll only send this message

I don’t want to communicate with you or your obnoxious friends.I’m cutting ropes, burning bridges, and tying these old, frayed loose endsPlease hear me out this time because I’ll only send this message onceYou should be aware by now; I’m going on scavenger hunts.I’m dropping every one of you and saving myself into the directoryThen deleting you from my life and encrypting the distressed traces still next to me.I cannot bother with sniveling viruses congesting my best systemsInfernal warnings at every corner, leaving me so hurt and frustrated at having missed them,And my codex is difficult to understandSo you’ll never do so with or without me holding your hand.I’m going to be brutally, cruelly truthful to you, your love was pretty fucking bland.Your heart was never the right shape for my holes, which were pretty fucking small.You were never meant to handle me at allI’m sorry that we had to take turns bearing with the fallBut I can apologize for nothing more than being obsessively personalToo versatile, or nonconvertible, whatever you saw when you believed that you saw me.But this decade and a half was regrettably irreversible.I’m much too sullied to become clean enough. You see, I am sorryI’m sorry, so sorry, for blemishes and prints across your skin and screenI guess I’m sorry for being meanAnd for my stinking attitude and reeking self,My sweating keyboard fingers and spitfire absence of sympathyComing straight from the source, my dark thirst for telepathyWhich is likely connected to my lack of access to securityAnd started where I teeter on the tip of the mountain of hearts impurity.I’ve raked my fingers through my hair and now shedding lies everywhereI’m entirely a gross mistake andIf my meat sticks to my skeleton I’ll consider myself luckyHiding the sliver of a chance that one day, my life will be lessSucky.And you’re welcome for these awful lines that you didn’t want me to write,Because somewhere between blowing up and going silently I learned to shoot my shots and fight.You’ll definitely be giving me insults behind my back and you might even tell herBut if we’re being truthful here, what can I say? I’m a lonely storyteller.