Until now
April 21, 2002 @ 4:45 p.m.
You'll try? You'll TRY? Don't try anything, don't even bother. I realize I'm a nuisance but at least I'm not an asshole, and lest your poor mind forget (or mine as well), I don't need you, I never have, I keep you around as an option. But when I keep all of this sequestered because I know what's best for us, and you do me disservice time and again, how am I supposed to react? I used to make excuses for you because I believed there was good in you...but I would rather be a lonely spinster for the rest of my days than put up with your malevolence anymore. I would rather slit my own wrists for a much better cause -- and to think that I once considered playing the martyr for you. I once considered you worthy...you're not sorry, you're not sorry at all that you used me, that I became your little game of cat-and-mouse. You have broken me time and again because of the simple joy that it brings you. Often I questioned before why I couldn't have you and now I wonder why I ever wanted you in the first place. You bring me tears and hatred that I've never felt before, that I never wanted to feel. I don't cry now for you but at my stupidity in ever caring for someone like you. You're rude and shameless and I understand now why they hated you, I hate you now too, and I understand why you deserve to be alone, why you deserve to get exactly what's coming to you. You are not a good person by filling my head with fantasies and then laughing at my seriousness of it all. Don't try, on account of me, on account of believing you've saved me, that you've taken the moral high road. I am not your pity case, there's a bit of antagonist in me too, one that wants to see you stumble, break both kneecaps and reach for me, like I did for you. And that part of me would laugh at the ugliness before me, kick dirt in its face, and spit upon it, again like you've done to me. You rarely feel anything for me and when you do it's pity, despite everything that I've given of myself and how much feeling I've put into you. So you go and be happy. You go and drink and laugh and fuck your two-cent stripper whores that may make you buzz but feel empty otherwise. You go and form your band, work on signing people, you work on finding someone who loves you. You work on every part of your life that you deem important and forget about everything else. But when I find both of my feet under me and have a good life, a life filled with something, we will see who has risen and who has failed. You will grow old and ugly and boring and see who will love you then. I offered myself; even prayed for you to the god I don't really believe in. And I'm glad you find this amusing, because I don't, I honestly don't, and I want to be rid of you. I don't want to speak of you anymore, I don't want to picture your face or hear your voice or do anything that remotely even concerns you anymore. I have dedicated myself to you and lost so much because of it. You're so careless with your words, especially since you know I'm so careful with mine. But this doesn't phase you, none of this even bothers you in the least. Maybe I should change my name to Blair and talk like ghetto trash and flaunt and party like a fiend and reject you for every single thing that you are -- maybe you'd like me then. I hate to admit it but she saw in you what I refused to see -- she saw how ugly and uncouth you could be, not just on the outside but in your soul, in the place where most women look the hardest and where I neglected to look at all. So you'll try, you always try and never succeed. Doesn't that say something about a person? That says something about you, something I blinded myself with so I couldn't see the real you...
until now.
<< | >>
- - March 22, 2010
always the same - July 01, 2008
b-a-n-a-n-a-s! - December 25, 2006
elementary again - October 29, 2006
I don't like you, but I love you - October 03, 2006