No more suicide jokes

My doctor says he won't give me any more drugs if I make suicide jokes.

I don't know -- I talk so much I have no words and I kept forgetting that 


I'm on a stage trying to make conversation and it's falls flat like a bad joke.

The human background murmur absorb what I'm trying to explain. I can't catch a word to engage with. I can't exist in any of the places mumbling.

There must be word for word somewhere. Somewhere real, somewhere not In daydream about a Taiwanese pop star. 

Weibird is quite brilliant, you know, his lyrics are perceptive, thoughtful and relevant. It's with a certain bitternerness I regret having missed out on an intellectual kindred.

Kudos, Weibird, I don't understand Chinese but I'm impressed by your lyrics. That's not a mean joke, I hope your lyrics are on par with your voice, but it wouldn't matter either way.

The fantasy doesn't make reality more noisy. I'm staring at the phone, social network after social network and no one's talking.

And when they do, it's just to say they don't understand. I don't understand what you're talking about.

I'm in a large empty room desperately searching for the person whispering "what?" 

I can explain, I can try! Hello?

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