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“you’re a writer” “I am illiterate” perfect

hm. Sitting on a Thursday night, alone. Don’t pity me. Not because I don’t need you to, but because you don’t get to think that I need you to. I’m not as badass as I attempt to put myself off to be. Thursday nights are not that special. I have a withering heart and need your arm to cry on. More than that I need your hands and even more your cock. I can’t handle anyone but myself, thus the lack of emotional engagement. And your cock. Mostly your cock. I can’t love myself and I, so, am broken. You’ll be happier when another shows you. Then, like all things do, it will end. You have a false sense of self-love that slowly crumbles... Don't do that to yourself... Be smart, lady, and enjoy the ride until you have no other option but to close up [shop]. No one’s gotta love. Even if that’s not true, no one’s going to. All in all, know your fate?