But You Don't Work Here Anymore...
What's done is done, what's gone is gone. In the wonderful words of Landon Pigg:
Well I can't let go
No, I can't let go of you
You're holding me back without even trying to.
I can't let go
I can't move on from the past
Without lifting a finger you're holding me back.
Now all that's left to do is whine and bitch about it on my blog, because OHEY, that's what blogs are for.
Should I do my English essay on Gay Rights or Anti-Hunting? I can't decide, but those are really the only two issues I give a fraction of a shit about. Too bad I had to have my thesis statement like, oh, yesterday.
Whyyyyyy must things die? More so, why my favorite things? The things that are closest to my heart are always the ones to die. I'm like that cat in nursing homes that sits on your lap, and then you die. Case in point: Panic at the Disco. Fall Out Boy. And now The Young Veins. (Oh irony, thou art a heartless bitch...) J.T. from Degrassi. Every favorite I've ever had on American Idol. (blah blah blah... -insert more things I've fucked up-) And lastly, my precious baby Betty. I don't think I can forgive the universe for that one. Nothing has mattered to me since that day, and I don't think it will ever matter again. My chest feels like it's collapsing every day, and I don't know how to function. How can you be expected to keep functioning when you lose a best friend? I'm not a feelings-sharer, and I don't know how to not explode if I can't go downstairs, hug my cat, and sob for an hour. That's how I cope. That's how I maintain my composure.
And now, I'm pretty sure that's why I'm falling apart. God I wish I knew a song to explain this. Maybe then people would get that I'm not oh-fucking-kay. Oh Gerard way, you are the poet of my soul...
Well I can't let go
No, I can't let go of you
You're holding me back without even trying to.
I can't let go
I can't move on from the past
Without lifting a finger you're holding me back.
Now all that's left to do is whine and bitch about it on my blog, because OHEY, that's what blogs are for.
Should I do my English essay on Gay Rights or Anti-Hunting? I can't decide, but those are really the only two issues I give a fraction of a shit about. Too bad I had to have my thesis statement like, oh, yesterday.
Whyyyyyy must things die? More so, why my favorite things? The things that are closest to my heart are always the ones to die. I'm like that cat in nursing homes that sits on your lap, and then you die. Case in point: Panic at the Disco. Fall Out Boy. And now The Young Veins. (Oh irony, thou art a heartless bitch...) J.T. from Degrassi. Every favorite I've ever had on American Idol. (blah blah blah... -insert more things I've fucked up-) And lastly, my precious baby Betty. I don't think I can forgive the universe for that one. Nothing has mattered to me since that day, and I don't think it will ever matter again. My chest feels like it's collapsing every day, and I don't know how to function. How can you be expected to keep functioning when you lose a best friend? I'm not a feelings-sharer, and I don't know how to not explode if I can't go downstairs, hug my cat, and sob for an hour. That's how I cope. That's how I maintain my composure.
And now, I'm pretty sure that's why I'm falling apart. God I wish I knew a song to explain this. Maybe then people would get that I'm not oh-fucking-kay. Oh Gerard way, you are the poet of my soul...