Don’t speak like that to me.
Spare my heart your incomprehensible truths, your succinct and suffocating quips.
I have had more than my lifetime’s share of truisms spat down on me. You think that by speaking truth to me I’ll come to know it? In your heart, you’ve honestly come to think that I’ll somehow be improved, saved by formulae? Poorly regurgitated phrases whose worth was rotten the second time they were ever spoken?
Fact is a pitiful thing given to the pitied, you have no interest in teaching, you care more for your ideas than for my own ability to comprehend them. It’s even more likely that they are less understood by you than anyone.
The truth has twisted you, don’t strangle me to ease your malformed defect.
Your spiritless sputtering serves neither you nor I. You’d be better off quickly coming to the conclusion of your work and killing yourself. There you’ll find the only truth you or I are worthy of.
What made you think to speak to me like that anyways? Why don’t you talk to me like a real human being? Are you more afraid that you might be human, or that I might be just like you?