No, I can't write that paper for you. Sometimes I wish you knew that I lie here on the floor staring at the frozen door. You say that I'm a little twisted, and my psychiatrist agrees. But I can't do anything without a little morphine please. No, I'm not addicted so just get out of my head. Hand me another cigarette and get out of my bed. Your paper won't wipe my tears or erase any of my fears. It's running up my spine, making me itch. Stop with the constant nagging.  You're just a little b****.