You turned me into a cliché. Made me make these sob verses. Maybe, I’m crazy. Nah, worthless. Fuck you. Baby, I’m not perfect, but maybe if you stop worrying we’ll make it, alright? Nothing can change by fighting, but fucking could save us tonight. I love you.
“Okay, good night.”
This shit changes by the second, but lately it’s gotten worse since I started drinking to stop the hurting. Jameson’s not working. One minute you’re all happy. The next you’re angry and depressive, and I can’t help but fucking hate it. This self-destructive behavior...Love is a motherfucker, ain’t it? Enough is enough. Maybe, I’m just fucking in love, but I think you’re fucking this up. BABY. We’re stuck in a rut, waiting, on someone to trust. Angrily, I come home to fuck and make you scream.
“It’s only lust,” you say to me. “I know you must hate me.”
“Please!”
She’s become my crutch. I made her leave because I fucked up and let her see I was nothing but a made-up dream. A bunch of fucking fantasies. All those ones you can’t believe.