You can't let them know I talk to you.
You know how it is.
They're starting to treat me like an equal.

Keep your intent to yourself, to let them know would scar your sincerity.
Now you have a child, a floating bubble of an idea, and that means expectations.

For others to have expectations of you makes you a predicament.

One of these days they'll find me and knock out everyone of my teeth and spray paint my tongue black.
Then take turns spitting down my throat.

I am your worthless possession hoarding, manipulative sex fiend, failing to maintain any shred of self-respect. I hold most in contempt and have expectations of those around me that I may never fufill. I am a petty alcoholic rotting away my organs.

If it weren't for this deep ingrained hatred of myself you'd know unparalled arrogance.

I despise you for no other good than to despise myself.