Anguish is realizing what could have been, but never was
I'm so entrenched in this cycle of failure that I don't know where to begin to end it.
I'm not so sure I deserve to succeed.
Failure is just another form of escapism that I practice with a little to much ease.
When did escaping from reality become the main focus of my life?
There's so much I want to say, but I don't see the point.
You get it, but you don't.
You care, but you can't be bothered.
My indifference is fading.
It never used to hurt.
I hate you for making me want you.
Wanting is supposed to make you work harder, all wanting you is making me do is hate.
And reality splinters.
I can pull the pieces back together in my own way.
Paste made of my own pain; blood and bandages that hold reality for a short time.
And where do I find someone that understands this?
Someone that doesn't think I need to be fixed just because I like to be hurt.
It's funny really.
You hurt me all the time.
Just not in the way I want.
I'm a junkie, and no one knows.
Pain is euphoric, it's my addiction.
You know, but I don't think you believe.
Guess it's hard to understand if you've never gotten off by being hurt.
Actually, I guess it's not funny at all.
You'd never do what I need you to do, and still...
I wonder what it's like to fuck and not hurt.
I won't say I think it's normal or not.
It's just how it is.
I wonder what it's like to fuck and not hate the person fucking you.
Lately, I just wonder what it's like to not hate.
I wonder if I passed a sign someways back, some kind of warning sign...
But mostly, I wonder why no one else ever notices.
I'm not so sure I deserve to succeed.
Failure is just another form of escapism that I practice with a little to much ease.
When did escaping from reality become the main focus of my life?
There's so much I want to say, but I don't see the point.
You get it, but you don't.
You care, but you can't be bothered.
My indifference is fading.
It never used to hurt.
I hate you for making me want you.
Wanting is supposed to make you work harder, all wanting you is making me do is hate.
And reality splinters.
I can pull the pieces back together in my own way.
Paste made of my own pain; blood and bandages that hold reality for a short time.
And where do I find someone that understands this?
Someone that doesn't think I need to be fixed just because I like to be hurt.
It's funny really.
You hurt me all the time.
Just not in the way I want.
I'm a junkie, and no one knows.
Pain is euphoric, it's my addiction.
You know, but I don't think you believe.
Guess it's hard to understand if you've never gotten off by being hurt.
Actually, I guess it's not funny at all.
You'd never do what I need you to do, and still...
I wonder what it's like to fuck and not hurt.
I won't say I think it's normal or not.
It's just how it is.
I wonder what it's like to fuck and not hate the person fucking you.
Lately, I just wonder what it's like to not hate.
I wonder if I passed a sign someways back, some kind of warning sign...
But mostly, I wonder why no one else ever notices.