"Daft Punk is Playing at My House" LCD Soundsystem

Why do I do this?
I often wonder about that. But it seems nonsensical. It makes sense. It doesn't make sense. Nothing does, everything does.
I think no one is better at pushing my buttons than myself.
I do hate myself.
I love myself.

I don't understand why people like me so much.
I don't see it.
I'm stupid.
I'm foolish, childish, naive, silly.
I lack self-esteem and self-confidence.
I'm a stupid little shit who thinks she's got it all. This little shit thinks she's got it made, that she does.
This little fucker thinks pretty, long words will get her out of anything. This little fucker thinks she's all that and a bag of chips.

And then there's this...this being. I won't call her a girl.
And she's...sometimes she's pretty amazing. And sometimes I love her briefly. Just a glimpse, a mud-covered stone that's been wiped at a certain spot by circumstance. That is how she thrives.
Otherwise, she's just a stupid little piece of shit just taking up room.

And even this description of that little fucker is a little fucking biased.
But the song is over and it's 11:03 at night and I am tired and hungry and hurt all over.

I need to cry sometime soon.
Goddamn that sounds so emo.
But I need it.

I'd love to love you, you know.
I'd love to know you. I'd love for you to love me back.

But the chances of that...are slim to none.
And if I continue this, you shall only hate me as much as me hates me.