My fingers have been working all too hard lately, but this isn't the time to be selfish. I will look back tomorrow and wished that I had chosen to vent rather than rest.
There is something in me telling me to leave the house. I had no intention to open the door for you, so why did I then? I mean, I have never in my life been so furious at one person. You sat there and called it a tantrum. You're a walking tantrum. A vermin to all that you have created. You've cheated the cycle somehow. Managed to put those pictures on your nightstand to make everyone believe something. The false appeal of your life collects dust, as those pictures yet older. I get older. You get older. When will you see the error of your ways. In the labryith of my mind I know how to say all of this. When I'm in front of you, all I am complelled to do is tell you to leave my sight because I can't stand to be around you. Its actually quite the opposite, actually. When I think about it, all I really want is you in front of me and my hand full of sewing pins. I've heard it all before. The false apologies, the slurred words. I mean, for fucks sake woman.. You know when enough is enough right? Fuck you. I'm leaving. Watch me. I'm through trying to fathom what goes through your head when you talk. All you'll hear of me is a whim as I say goodbye to them on the phone or the latest breaking news in my life as you bombard other people for details. Peace, bitch.