Want. Need. Have. Hate.
You are so full of contradictions. Little things you say you want, but don't want. Things you want, but don't say. Things that give you a thrill that are entirely opposite. I think you just like to bitch.
I don't know why I care, or why I try, or why I think about you so goddamn much.
It's unrequited, misunderstood, and generally unappreciated.
What I need is to get you out of my head, so I can focus on something funner, more productive. Fuck, so I can focus on anything else in my life without wondering if what I'm doing is right.
I need to burn you out of my skull. Cauterize these loose ends. Crush all of my hope.
Just so I can start anew, search for someone who actually cares.
Who wants what I've got to give.
And doesn't demand I become something from a fairy tale, or that things just work out without any effort.
I used to think I hit the lottery. I've come to find out I was just a seasonal hire.
You arn't what I hate. You are not what I despise. You are not wonderful, or extremely special.
You're just another pretty face, with a ruined tongue, and broken glasses.
We'll both look back on this someday.
I'll be stronger. Bitter. Jaded. Faded, like an old threadbare carpet.
I just hope you'll be something better. Something with pride, and forgiveness, and transparency.
And if you think this is about you, you might be right. Or you could be wrong. It's not about one situation, or scenario, or even about something that happened period.
These are my thoughts, and I rarely think so single mindedly.
I don't know why I care, or why I try, or why I think about you so goddamn much.
It's unrequited, misunderstood, and generally unappreciated.
What I need is to get you out of my head, so I can focus on something funner, more productive. Fuck, so I can focus on anything else in my life without wondering if what I'm doing is right.
I need to burn you out of my skull. Cauterize these loose ends. Crush all of my hope.
Just so I can start anew, search for someone who actually cares.
Who wants what I've got to give.
And doesn't demand I become something from a fairy tale, or that things just work out without any effort.
I used to think I hit the lottery. I've come to find out I was just a seasonal hire.
You arn't what I hate. You are not what I despise. You are not wonderful, or extremely special.
You're just another pretty face, with a ruined tongue, and broken glasses.
We'll both look back on this someday.
I'll be stronger. Bitter. Jaded. Faded, like an old threadbare carpet.
I just hope you'll be something better. Something with pride, and forgiveness, and transparency.
And if you think this is about you, you might be right. Or you could be wrong. It's not about one situation, or scenario, or even about something that happened period.
These are my thoughts, and I rarely think so single mindedly.