Hello, friend. It's only you and me here. You, here with me and my pain.

I cross my heart and I wish that I would've never met you
Why did you follow me? The men in black, they were one thing. They were only background programs. You were different, like me. Not exactly like me, though. I've got more daemons in me than most people can ever imagine having.
You showed me how to love and how to tear myself in two.
Those opportunities, those dreams, those hopes- were they all illusions? I used to tell myself that I could change the world. I would then tell myself that I wasn't special enough. You let me know that I was special, that my actions would affect millions, that what I did mattered.

When I lay my head down, all my secrets pour out
There were times when I allowed myself to be read like an open book, those times when I allowed you to relate to me to the best of our abilities, those times I allowed myself to strongly connect to you. From our first conversation on the Ferris wheel, you had me hooked on the simple hack I could create.
All the things you've done, I won't speak of again.
How could I? How was I supposed to know that the men in black would come after me, that I would have to-/error 404: data not found/

Most days I walk around not making a sound
There is a lot of chaos in the world, and perhaps even more chaos in the depths of technology. What is there to gain by speaking to people, or for that matter, typing anything into a message board or comment section? Most of the time people talk about themselves, with the hope that by their words, you are listening to them and elevating their egos. The rest of the things people talk about are things that have happened online, in their *social* networking lives rather than the facts of existing in reality.
With all the pieces of my heart in my hands.
There is nothing left. You're not here anymore. There is no more amusement park arcade, no more unified front against Evil Corp, no more masks. There's a hoodie and a line a day. That's all I have now. It needs me just as much as I need it. Those moments are destined, every choice brings me closer to that one line. Just one line a day. That's all. I promise.

I've fallen in love more than twice
Why did you have to show up at my door so many months ago? I remember that day so clearly: you pounded my apartment door, bitching about how you were in a 'life-or-death situation'. You weren't, but that small pet fish in your hands might have been. "Do you know the pressure of an ecstatic six-year-old? I mean, I kill that thing, and her whole world collapses," you explained to me while you placed the fish in a glass of water. Why did I let you in? Was I really so desperate to have someone in my life, or did I think there was going to be something more to our relationship? I hadn't seen you before, therefore had no need to dig up dirt on you. I didn't even have a name to go with your radiance.
Kissed a pretty girl and I thought she was mine.
You offered a 'top-shelf hookup'. I guess we have a type, then, like all other types. Am I really that noticeable? Did I really give you the impression of a druggie? I guess not, because the next thing you did was shrug and ask if I could help you move your dresser from outside to across the hall. Once we were outside, something compelled me to ask if I could buy morphine and suboxone from you. Shit, what was I thinking? I knew how to manage my meds on my own, I didn't need your help, I didn't need you to get involved in the shitstorm that is my existence. I must be crazy, because what compelled me was the thought that I needed you. You looked at me funny, told me you weren't sure if your supplier could provide, but another psychopath could. You told me I could be worth a psychopath. I should never have asked you, I should have never have opened my door. All I have left of you now is the damn fish that nearly cost me my door.

Yeah I've had sex, I've made love
The only difference to me is the trust.
We made a pact. You would give me what I needed if I gave you what you needed. At first, I couldn't. I didn't want to hurt you. Since when did I have the capabilities of emoting? I wouldn't sleep with you the way you wanted me to, but I was there for you during those dark nights. Then, the loneliness wasn't so bad.

But even trust can hurt you sometimes
I caved in that one time. Never make decisions when you're on morphine. I was pissed off and you seemed fine. I was pissed off that you were fine. I could have hurt you. I did hurt you. I led that psychopath into your life all because I needed a fix. That bond, that pact, it seemed to mean nothing. It was like I hit the 'accept terms and conditions' button without thinking.
Remember nothing lasts forever, you lose.
For a while, I had you in my excuse for a life. I had someone who I could be around without freaking out too much, someone whose presence didn't unsettle me as much as the presence of others. I had the concepts of changing the world, of saving the world from the invisible hand that controls us all while we remain blissfully ignorant.

I've watched my mother cry
That one time. Just once did she allow an almost theatrical tear roll down her cheek during the appeal against Evil Corp.
Watched my father slowly die
Leukemia. That's what they said it was, a common enough disease that could've originated anywhere. He was the one person I felt completely comfortable around, and ever since the day that he passed...
God, if you're looking for something to do, I'm praying.
Has there ever been a more organised group of bullshit that has mass control over peoples' minds than religion? All gods can do is hold us in prisons of madness. Prayer is simply shifting the blame off of ourselves and onto an almighty being, so we can feel comforted by its grace, when all that we've really accomplished is absolutely nothing. There is no use putting my faith in anything other than myself, my mind, and you. You, my friend, know that I hate it when I can't hold in my loneliness. This crying has been happening too often. What do normal people do when they get like this? They turn to family, to friends, I think. I don't have such luxuries. I've got a place on the floor that's imbued with tears, saturated in sadness.

Dear world, slow down, you're killing me now.
It feels like all of our heroes are counterfeit. Social media- the irony is too much- faking intimacy across the world. Did we ask for all of this to happen? Maybe not outright, but with our things, our property, our money. Our privacy is payment for everything. It's painful not to pretend that this life is what brings us happiness. We are all prisoners to our own devices. We fit ourselves into molds, and for what?

This is who I am doing the best that I can
Always running in the dark trying to catch my falling stars.
Life is so much easier when you're numb. The bubble of the naive, the reality that most people live in- that's numbing. Numb is when you recognize the world and all its bullshit, when you know that the world itself is just one big hoax, tweets masquerading as insight. Numb is that sense of overwhelming dread from recognizing that you're part of the 1% that knows what's really going on- not being able to do anything about it and becoming an evil bystander. The drugs add some meaning, some more purpose to the senselessness. At least I can pretend that it's the drugs that are desensitizing rather than the immense amount of malignity. Am I just as bad as the rest of society? I sure as hell hope I'm not, but deep down-/error 404: data not found/

Dear world, slow down, you're killing me now.
Is this really all there is in the world? Hoodies, morphine, days spent behind desks and the illusion of control? What the hell was I thinking when I decided to play god and become as bad as the corporate overlords? How could I have possibly thought that my actions could bring positive change to the world?
I'm not that special.
I'm just an anonymous tech.
I'm alone.