Light that smoke for giving up on me.
And one just 'cause they'll kill me sooner than your expectations.
I hope you choke on those words, that kiss, that bottle -- I confess.
Now ash yourself out on the insides.
When I said I loved you, I swear I lied.
Merry Christmas, I could care less.
Self-pity blog time? I think so.
I can't stand at all, it hurts, it makes me cry.
As they choke you, slap you, shake you, knock some fucking sense into your head.
You're such an idiot, you're such a brat, you're worthless.
Then I'm locked in the back bathroom.
Crying and choking on my words.
Begging and panting for breath.
And they don't care.
Hah. You fucking worthless brat, get up, enough of this bullshit.
That's all it is, bullshit.
You keep telling yourself that.
I'm a total WRECK.
Prescribe pills,
I'm alone in this bedroom.
She never fixes this.
Sick and sad.
Rip out my eyes.
Cut out my tongue.
Burn my vocal cords.
My only forms of communication.
You could save yourself, you could save us all.
I can't call for help.
You think you're oh-so-smart.
Survival never goes out of style.
But I've got one up on you,
these words will haunt your head.
Breaking hearts has never looked so cool, it's never felt SO GOOD, has it?
And when your hand print burns itself into my cheek, I'll imagine you torn apart.
Motionless, pleading, you're nothing, you're bleeding.
Take this to your grave, I'll take it to mine.
But at least he TRIED.
You made yourself all too obvious. You couldn't care less.
All too obvious.
I never have been good at multi-tasking.
I feel like I could write until my hand falls off, scream until my lungs go out.
About the things I want to wish upon you.
I'd write and scream all night if this didn't hurt so much.
As it is, I'm going to sleep.
I love this dirty feeling I get when I cry.
Aching head, aching hips and leaking eyes.
So this is my Christmas Eve.
I'm selfish, selfish, that's the only reason you'll see me.
I just fucking LOVE how everyone has a superiority complex.
Yes, everyone.
You, me. Everyone.
'I can't be wrong, it's YOU. You're wrong. I'm right. You're the problem. Not me. Never me.'
Save us from ourselves.
My mouth is moving too fast for you to figure it out, and this is dead.
Today is DEAD.
You're so dead to me.
Merry Christmas, mommy.
Next year, get me bullets and wrap them in shiny paper.
There's no point in being surreptitious about this anymore.
At least you would've saved one of us a life of misery.
I hate you.
Xoxo.
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I was mad when I wrote it. Christmas Eve. Don't necessarily take every word at face value.
