Why’s it somehow always my fault? She can keep writing in her blog and all her suicide notes that it’s all my fault. Well, fine. Blame it all on me. I’ve got the weight of the world pushing me ten feet under and there’s really no light at the end. So, if she wants to tell me how I’m doing everything wrong and how I’m a traitor, a bitch, a fake, a liar, etc. Well, you know what? Get. A. Fucking. Ticket. And. Get. In. Fucking. Line.
I can’t do everything anymore. Why do I have to help everyone when about only one person is someone I’d actually trust with my secrets? And I’ve stopped seeing her and she’s on her way to moving on. Call me all that you want. I’ve given up. There’s nothing you can say that I haven’t told myself ten times worse. But did I write you a fucking suicide note? No, I’m still living and breathing despite my mentality. So don’t fucking lecture me on depression and subliminally ask for my sympathy. I see right fucking through you. You’re more transparent than newly cleaned glass, so stop bitching at me. I try to be a god friend. I try to be a good person. I try, but every time you end up fucking me over in the end.
Insult me for being mad at you, but you can’t blame me anymore. Not again. You blamed me every other time, and every time I came back despite that. Not again. My arms and legs are strained from having to crawl back to you. This time you went too far. And I’m just not ready to crawl back again. So don’t you dare blame your faux-mo on me.
I know, I know. I’m oh so predictable. Yeah, well is it me that’s predictable for repeating the truth. Or you because you keep repeating me to put up this lie by constantly reinforcing it through making, “I’m not emo” your mantra. Get over it, I know you better than you ever admitted I do. Give up, back out. And stop fucking blaming everything on me.
This is all that you’ve told me; never shed a tear. They don’t help; they only comeback down as rain.
“Do I have to spell it out for you?
Or scream it in your face?
Oh, the chemistry between us could destroy this place.
Do I have to spell it out for you?
Or whisper in your ear?
Oh, just stop right there.
I think that we’ve got something here.”