Woe to you that can only relate to yourself.

Nostalgia your only functional drug.

Forever getting high off your own supply.

I know how little you have left to obsess over.

There never seems to be anything new to you.

It is kind of sad how little you have just to try and fill the space.

***

Woe to you that cannot emphasize.

I can count on one hand the amount of friends you have.

How small your world must be.

I do not even know if you understand what a friend is.

You are the only one considered important.

Everyone else accessory.

***

Woe to you that thinks you are ok as is.

You never had the chance to realize the pain is from emptiness.

Content to think progress unnecessary.

Doomed from the start because you cannot grow.

Sometimes I wonder if you were ever alive to begin with.

Self limited in ways you never needed.

***

Woe to you, woe to you.

I speak it aloud even though I know it would never change you.

I cannot grant you enlightenment or make you brand new.

My words have fallen on you before with no change.

Echoing into the space of emptiness you try to fill.

So all I can say is woe to you.