I refuse to be ashamed any longer. Fuck me, for my flaws and my disasters, for I am a good one. I'm flying down every highway with the windows rolled down and my hair is a fucking tornado mess. I am a mess, a big massive mess. I have this, that-- and if you didn't know better, you'd think all was well, well, wouldn't you?

But here's the thing: I need you. I spend so much time wishing aimlessly, wandering through the dreams of others, I need to land. I need to walk among the others for a while, because I spend so much time flying around that my wings are sore, bloody pulpy sore wounds full of blood and gore. I hope you understand me, I fear the rest of the world doesn't.

If you think I don't mean you, don't be mad.