I Hate Me So That Means You Too

Shug,

What are you doing? Probably something stupid? Me too. If I had a dollar for every time I have said you intentionally self-destruct, I could pay for a plane ticket to not be here anymore. I have spent so much time calling you out on this that I forgot something. I do it too. I also continuously and for no apparent reason fuck up my life. So right now, I hate us both. You haven't actually done anything to me but I'm feeling pretty angry right now so you get to be the other target. Is that why you picked her? Is it just another way for you to destroy yourself? The other night me and my, I don't know what you call her, had a fight and it was stupid and pointless and now it's just this crazy explosive thing that went too far. And it's like when something goes to far, there's no turning back. Just sitting around waiting on someone to determine the next moment in your life? And I just hate so much that I did this, I did not mean to do this. Sitting around, pretending you don't grow more and more sick to your stomach, as hour by hour passes. Did I ever make you feel this way? Is this sick karmic retribution? I just wanted to be happy and now? I get to be alone and you still get to be with crazy. Which one of us better off? I feel so disgusted with myself. Can you relate? You get to have someone else in her bed and I get to feel like complete dirt. I wish you were here to tell me what to do. I wish you were here to tell me it's going to be okay and she's going to come through.

Here's to hoping you're in a better place in life than me.

Words Don't Mean Anything When You Don't Even Say Them

Hey shug,
I know I haven't wrote to you in a while, but honestly, I just haven't had anything to say. I do think you are the only other person I know who has such a knack for self-destruction. So this is kinda to be expected. I don't know why we do it either. Sometimes I just want to run away and start over. Every time I pour my heart out to someone and they just sit there. Every time they say just the bare minimum to keep me around. Every time they leave me blatantly hurting. My heart closes just a little more. And eventually, one day it won't open at all. But who the hell would even notice. How is it possible that I just continually end up in one-sided love affairs where the only person who doesn't get off scot free, is me? Then I remember if I ran, I would just spend my days crying because I missed that dang baby. So I stay. Stay, looking for the kind of love I have never received in return. Hoping against all hope that will somehow be the one person destined to give a fuck about me. And nothing ever changes, the people might look like they get better and better on paper, but damn, do they all hurt the same. And everyone does it. All of them. No matter how much I love them, they just ignore all the words on words on words I spew out and say a whole bunch of nothing in return. Is this the cruelty of my life? Was I an awful person in another world? I just hope you're doing a hell of a lot better than me.

One That Hurt

Hello ex-lover.
And by ex-lover, I really mean
girl who thinks she deserves
another chance.
And by another chance,
I mean,
I think I'm falling for you again.
Falling down into your depths.
Depths as in,
Will you save me?
Or will you let the mermaids
sing their song?
Lure me right into hell.
Hell, where every inch of me
burns.
Burns after the sting of your
rejection.
Burns like watching you pour
gasoline on a fire,
that I'm sitting too close to.
And all you have to do is
reach out your hand,
And pull me a few feet away.
Like watching you,
Glass trapped in between us.
And all you have to do,
is pick up a rock and
smash it.
Fall into my arms,
And we'll fall into your bed.
Where we can spend forever,
Arms wrapped up in arms,
legs wrapped in legs.
Wrapped up, until you kick me out.
And by kick me out I mean
you never let me in,
in the first place.
Never let me in like have you
ever cared about any girl?
Or all we all just something you collect.
Our feelings bottled up on your shelves.
Fuck ours, I mean mine.
My feelings on your shelves.
where they begged to be touched
by you.
And you forgot they exist.