Excuse my language. I got a bit angry.
I wish there was a word set off to describe the shallowness some people seem to reach so willingly.
It seems to me that she would sell her soul if she thought that could enable her to grab the attention of a few more guys for just a few seconds.
Her personality changes as quickly and as easily as her underwear. Don't like her today? No worries, better luck tomorrow.
She'll deny anything, do anything, say anything, give anything to get the attention of anything with a dick.
She'll say what she has to, tell you waht you want to hear. Come on, give her another chance- she'll fuck another guy who once meant something to you.
Blame it on the alcohol! The sweet, sweet alcohol. That's what she'll do. No, blame it on the vindictive, little whore! She knew full well the consequences that would come.
She cares as much about how you feel, about your friendship, as she does about the random guy she woke up next to this morning.
She'll miss you when you're gone. Not because you were "friends", no worries, you were her doorway to the party. She'll step back and forth through you, over and over again, each time slamming the door a little harder. If she can't break you, she'll lock the door and throw away the key. She'll make everyone hate you.
She won't think twice about it either.
When's the next party? She'll open her legs a little wider this time, she'll wear her skirt a little shorter, drink a little faster. She'll kiss you a little more passionately, she'll ask you to fuck her a little harder.
Give her what she wants. She won't take no for an answer. She'll keep asking, pleading, begging desperately until she gets some temporary satisfaction.
She'll forget you in the morning. Don't get your hopes up. But do you care if she remembers?
I want her to forget. I want her to leave. I want to scream at her: YOU CAN'T FUCK THEM ANYMORE! YOU CAN'T MAKE THEM WANT YOU! THEY DON'T WANT A WASHED UP WHORE! THEY DON'T WANT THE LIES, AS FAKE AS THE PLATINUM IN YOUR HAIR, AS FAKE AS THE WAY YOU WEAR YOUR CHUCK TAYLORS LIKE YOU'VE OWNED THEM FOR YEARS. THEY DON'T FUCKING WANT YOU!
They see through you- color you clear. You transparent piece of shit. You say, "Oh, I liked them before they became well-known." Well known. You never knew them. Don't claim to know.
No one believes your lies. They've caught up to you. You were running so fast. You've fallen.
Can you feel the scrapes on your knees though? Can you even feel anything? You're as deep as the water in the bathtub as you wash the filth off from the night before. You're as real as the cartoons you enjoyed on TV when you were a child, and people liked you.
You're so void of feeling love, compassion. You're incapable of having a friendship. You'll be the person who ends up alone. When everyone is tired of the fake smiles, the pettiness, the sluttiness they'll drop you. They have already. Can you feel it? Now, the only friends you have are in the memories of past friendships.
You can't count on us to supply you with the drunk, willing guys, you washed up, fucked up whore. No one misses you. No one ever will. We don't, and won't, miss your fake comments about bands you've never listened to, your glittery see-through shirts.
I bet you feel relieved- you don't have to add to the lies anymore! You don't have to make yourself believe stories that aren't true.
Stop fucking telling yourself those stories. They're not true! They're not true! They're not true! You tell them to yourself over and over again- in one last desperate attempt to make yourself believe them.
No one believes you! No one believes you! I want to scream it at the top of my lungs. It's time you got what's coming to you.
They see right through you. You have all the personality of the dying flowers when winter starts to come. You have all the originality of peppermints being thrown at the Christmas parade year after year.
You don't have what it takes to be the liar that you are. You're as special as any piece of gravel I could pick up out of my yard. But I'll leave you there. you deserve to be there covered in dirt on the ground- exposed for what you truly are. You dirty whore. You never cared about anyone- do you like how it feels to have no one care about you? Do you like being alone?
So wear your Chuck Taylors now. You've had them for three weeks and you pretend to have had them for years.
It seems to me that she would sell her soul if she thought that could enable her to grab the attention of a few more guys for just a few seconds.
Her personality changes as quickly and as easily as her underwear. Don't like her today? No worries, better luck tomorrow.
She'll deny anything, do anything, say anything, give anything to get the attention of anything with a dick.
She'll say what she has to, tell you waht you want to hear. Come on, give her another chance- she'll fuck another guy who once meant something to you.
Blame it on the alcohol! The sweet, sweet alcohol. That's what she'll do. No, blame it on the vindictive, little whore! She knew full well the consequences that would come.
She cares as much about how you feel, about your friendship, as she does about the random guy she woke up next to this morning.
She'll miss you when you're gone. Not because you were "friends", no worries, you were her doorway to the party. She'll step back and forth through you, over and over again, each time slamming the door a little harder. If she can't break you, she'll lock the door and throw away the key. She'll make everyone hate you.
She won't think twice about it either.
When's the next party? She'll open her legs a little wider this time, she'll wear her skirt a little shorter, drink a little faster. She'll kiss you a little more passionately, she'll ask you to fuck her a little harder.
Give her what she wants. She won't take no for an answer. She'll keep asking, pleading, begging desperately until she gets some temporary satisfaction.
She'll forget you in the morning. Don't get your hopes up. But do you care if she remembers?
I want her to forget. I want her to leave. I want to scream at her: YOU CAN'T FUCK THEM ANYMORE! YOU CAN'T MAKE THEM WANT YOU! THEY DON'T WANT A WASHED UP WHORE! THEY DON'T WANT THE LIES, AS FAKE AS THE PLATINUM IN YOUR HAIR, AS FAKE AS THE WAY YOU WEAR YOUR CHUCK TAYLORS LIKE YOU'VE OWNED THEM FOR YEARS. THEY DON'T FUCKING WANT YOU!
They see through you- color you clear. You transparent piece of shit. You say, "Oh, I liked them before they became well-known." Well known. You never knew them. Don't claim to know.
No one believes your lies. They've caught up to you. You were running so fast. You've fallen.
Can you feel the scrapes on your knees though? Can you even feel anything? You're as deep as the water in the bathtub as you wash the filth off from the night before. You're as real as the cartoons you enjoyed on TV when you were a child, and people liked you.
You're so void of feeling love, compassion. You're incapable of having a friendship. You'll be the person who ends up alone. When everyone is tired of the fake smiles, the pettiness, the sluttiness they'll drop you. They have already. Can you feel it? Now, the only friends you have are in the memories of past friendships.
You can't count on us to supply you with the drunk, willing guys, you washed up, fucked up whore. No one misses you. No one ever will. We don't, and won't, miss your fake comments about bands you've never listened to, your glittery see-through shirts.
I bet you feel relieved- you don't have to add to the lies anymore! You don't have to make yourself believe stories that aren't true.
Stop fucking telling yourself those stories. They're not true! They're not true! They're not true! You tell them to yourself over and over again- in one last desperate attempt to make yourself believe them.
No one believes you! No one believes you! I want to scream it at the top of my lungs. It's time you got what's coming to you.
They see right through you. You have all the personality of the dying flowers when winter starts to come. You have all the originality of peppermints being thrown at the Christmas parade year after year.
You don't have what it takes to be the liar that you are. You're as special as any piece of gravel I could pick up out of my yard. But I'll leave you there. you deserve to be there covered in dirt on the ground- exposed for what you truly are. You dirty whore. You never cared about anyone- do you like how it feels to have no one care about you? Do you like being alone?
So wear your Chuck Taylors now. You've had them for three weeks and you pretend to have had them for years.