I’m washed out. Wrung. I seriously don’t know how everything got so shitty so fast. It felt good to run my mouth. I feel hateful towards him. I want to make him feel just as trash as he’s made me. But I doubt anything I do would matter. He doesn’t give a shit. And I still do. How fucking sad for me.
He’s just tired of me. He’s forgotten. He doesn’t want to be reminded. He hurt me over and over this last year. Until everything I said to him was bullshit. There was never anything to say or he could make me fall to the pitch dark again. I guarded everything. How ironical. I am the fucking secret. I want to hurt him. Show him how he’s so small a balled up person he’ll never uncurl again.
He doesn’t care anymore. He doesn’t want anymore. Doesn’t feel the same way. I guess I should’ve known he was never one to surrender themselves to another. He didn’t say the things he should have. He just didn’t care enough to.
Yeah and sitting somewhere in this fucking mess is me and my stupid, pulsating heart.