You did the first few months. Supposed to make you smile. Now you just want to give up. Black. There's too much yelling at you, too much yearning for your attention. Affection. Deranged you've become. Trying to pull the moon to the ground. Spitting and growling at the sun. Remember your mother. Remember the loaded gun. Tried to prove to yourself you could be different. Cold and more bitter is all you've become. Push away everything you want