That is a weakness, I want to warrant feeling like this. I want to suffer for it because otherwise its not real. And I want it to be. As much as I wanted you? Maybe. No, more. I'm hungry for it, insatiably and I don't know how to stop it, only I know that its wrong. And now my stomach still turns when you speak to me - but afterwards all I can think is - Fucker. I want to destroy that part of me that wants you still, whose knees weaken still when you talk to me, or that part of me that plays up to you, the part of me that ignores all my friends when you are nearby and especially - the part I hate the most, the part that grips hold of me whether I want it to or not, which smothers me, makes me spitefully jealous of those people, in the lull before I snap.
Snap, click, fizzle maybe.
Into something weaker, more pathetic. More suceptible to you, more feeling, harsh towards friends, even harsher towards critics - who knew better before - and harsher still towards those who still have it good. Or have it good because you don't.
And throughout this pursuit of you that caused me so much loss, I was a hypocrite. Sneering at those who would do the same as me, dismissing them as weak and desparate. I was desparate too, desparate not to be seen the same way, to have you and keep you - and desparate only because I knew it wasn't possible. Still I placed everything I had onto you. Or maybe you created what I had. Or you made it seem worthwhile, you validated it. You built me up higher than before, you were my heroin.
Well, it may be cold turkey now, but not strictly, I don't want more. It soured, the whole thing has disintigrated in my hands. Turned graceless. You made me feel used, worthless and as if I were nothing.
I'm a slag. I'm a whore. That's what you always called me. And when you did, it was a pretty accurate description of how you made me feel. I don't know why. I didn't deserve it. I still have enough self-belief/arrogance left to say that.
I prefer this here, where I can escape from you, hide away. My weekdays are punctuated with you and I can't wait for it to stop. But talk to me and this resolute wall will crumble. And as soon as you leave, I begin to build up the wall all over again, fueled by the way I feel used, stripped of my pride. Brick by brick and it all held together by any last shred of dignity I had, or self worth. But I would tear it down myself to have you talk to me again.
I'm not the same person as when we met. You may not be either but this hasn't changed you as much as it has me, everyone can see that . I lost my innocence, I hated things like I hadn't before - I hated you. I am bitter now and I can never go back. I should thank you for that, my short, sharp, meaningless introduction to everything. To the game you play, which I can't, but then I don't know if I want to. Not if it ends like this. Liquid fear, slipping through my veins.
I'm tired, exhausted. This has drained everything from me, and what is it? Nothing.
Love knows not its depth until the hour of separation. And I jumped in the deep end by mistake. I forgot I couldn't swim.
You don't realize how much you care about someone until they don't care about you.
I have an obsessive personality. When is this going to stop meaning something to me?
Feeling:
Listening to:
Pretending: