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Click hereQuestions, questions, questions, why do you ask so many questions. When the questions you ask aren't even the thoughts you think, you push me to the brink. The brink of falling, falling, falling, for something. Something you can't, won't, didn't provide, absolutely. Absolutely blind to your disease, how am I the only one who can't see the monster that lives deep inside? Inside where your monster hides, I think we play well together, that is why.
Why can't you accept that someone is genuinely interested in learning about you? Why can't someone be fascinated by that monster? Why is being accepted fully a hard thing to believe?
I tried to read it for meaning first. Then just read it. Then read it very quickly, except for the last line, and that's how I liked it best.