(no subject)
here i am, i don't want to be by myself. and i think you're fucking someone else. i'm always afraid you're gone away from me; i'm always afraid that you're lost in somebody.
you ask me if it's okay; well, it isn't. so, tell me, then, why would you do it? infidelity is never okay; my apologies to the polygamists.
ask me. go ahead.
ask me.
i'll admit it.
i'll admit everything.
i am not perfect; i have never been perfect; i never intend to try and be anything similar to perfect. i am possibly the most flawed person to ever walk this earth, and that's fact, not opinion. my issues cause serial killers to seem perfectly balanced. again, i don't exaggerate.
does that mean i deserve to cry?
i don't think so. i could be wrong, of course, because of all the flaws, but i think i deserve something other than being upset.
i mean.
that's my best guess, at least.
i'm bleeding.
these eyes burn from makeup tainted saline surging out of them, but unforuantely, i can't quite seem to make it stop.
i wish i had a beaver dam.
better yet, i wish i had something else.
i don't know what, but just...something.
because fuck, this hurts.
i think i hate you. i really do.
i haven't felt instability like this in months; i was doing okay. then you had to go and bring her up.
suddenly.
i'm not so okay.
i guess, because you're you, you couldn't begin to understand why. am i correct?
i guess the temptation to cheat is normal nowadays.
but it's not really something i'm prepared to deal with.
and you're out there, with her, hell, you're celebrating her, and i'm home all alone.
teary eyed. bloody. cold. alone. undeserving.
the drinking, the girls, and now this.
fucking around with a girl you promised to never speak to again.
and you wonder why i'm upset?
i'm handling this better than you realize, however.
and i'm not being dramatic.
or crazy.
because i know you'll say i am.
i'm being me. this is me when i'm hurt and utterly livid.
i just want to punch and scream and break and slaughter and massacre everything around me (except the cats, because, well, this isn't their fault). the coffee table, however, i think is to blame. at least a little bit? would make me feel better if i could shatter it, so let's pretend it's fucking around too.
i hate you.
a lot.
and don't tell me you love me.
because love doesn't go get drunk with another girl.
a girl who was supposed to be removed from this relationship months ago.
love would come home.
nobody's home.
hm.
get what i'm saying?
you opened this wound.
deliberately, i might add.
and you've turned me into something i haven't been for what seems like forever.
so yeah, i hate you.
because you fucked me up tonight.
and i don't need your help because i've fucked myself up enough over the years.
you'll never read this. why would you?
as if you've ever cared about anything i've ever said.
you've never listened to me.
but i need to say;
i don't want you here.
around me.
in my life.
because your love is nothing more than contentment.
i don't want to be your damn comfort zone.
don't come home.
you're not welcome here tonight.
you ask me if it's okay; well, it isn't. so, tell me, then, why would you do it? infidelity is never okay; my apologies to the polygamists.
ask me. go ahead.
ask me.
i'll admit it.
i'll admit everything.
i am not perfect; i have never been perfect; i never intend to try and be anything similar to perfect. i am possibly the most flawed person to ever walk this earth, and that's fact, not opinion. my issues cause serial killers to seem perfectly balanced. again, i don't exaggerate.
does that mean i deserve to cry?
i don't think so. i could be wrong, of course, because of all the flaws, but i think i deserve something other than being upset.
i mean.
that's my best guess, at least.
i'm bleeding.
these eyes burn from makeup tainted saline surging out of them, but unforuantely, i can't quite seem to make it stop.
i wish i had a beaver dam.
better yet, i wish i had something else.
i don't know what, but just...something.
because fuck, this hurts.
i think i hate you. i really do.
i haven't felt instability like this in months; i was doing okay. then you had to go and bring her up.
suddenly.
i'm not so okay.
i guess, because you're you, you couldn't begin to understand why. am i correct?
i guess the temptation to cheat is normal nowadays.
but it's not really something i'm prepared to deal with.
and you're out there, with her, hell, you're celebrating her, and i'm home all alone.
teary eyed. bloody. cold. alone. undeserving.
the drinking, the girls, and now this.
fucking around with a girl you promised to never speak to again.
and you wonder why i'm upset?
i'm handling this better than you realize, however.
and i'm not being dramatic.
or crazy.
because i know you'll say i am.
i'm being me. this is me when i'm hurt and utterly livid.
i just want to punch and scream and break and slaughter and massacre everything around me (except the cats, because, well, this isn't their fault). the coffee table, however, i think is to blame. at least a little bit? would make me feel better if i could shatter it, so let's pretend it's fucking around too.
i hate you.
a lot.
and don't tell me you love me.
because love doesn't go get drunk with another girl.
a girl who was supposed to be removed from this relationship months ago.
love would come home.
nobody's home.
hm.
get what i'm saying?
you opened this wound.
deliberately, i might add.
and you've turned me into something i haven't been for what seems like forever.
so yeah, i hate you.
because you fucked me up tonight.
and i don't need your help because i've fucked myself up enough over the years.
you'll never read this. why would you?
as if you've ever cared about anything i've ever said.
you've never listened to me.
but i need to say;
i don't want you here.
around me.
in my life.
because your love is nothing more than contentment.
i don't want to be your damn comfort zone.
don't come home.
you're not welcome here tonight.