You recycle the same material with the hope of making it something new, something different, something better. But everything still feels the same, the words still form in your mouth in the same way, and the vomit that you spew so uncontrollably, so casually, flows the exact same way.
Don’t kid yourself, you are nothing new, you are nothing different, you are no better than the mush of reused waste that you have always been.
So next time, take my advice and burn–light a match, and torch yourself. Ashes don’t come back, but at least they fly.