I may be misanthropic but you're damn lucky I'm not sadistic

I said I wanted to be of use not overused. I'm stuck with the fits and they're not my own. It's like my life is convulsing; it's revolting. It's one of the things that I feel I should not be required to do to be considered human; I have to go through roles and synchronized lines of communication (or lack of) in order to pass through this alive. I can't just say and do what I truly think, for explosions will be triggered. I cannot jump off of the train for fear of not being able to catch it later. I can't even listen to the records I'd want to at low volumes (regardless that I'd want them louder). I can play for a few seconds a day at work some steel, and when I'm lonely (which isn't often) I can play the six strings of at home.

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