I'm sorry.
I'm sorry I don't meet your requirements.
I never have though, so what else is new.
You tell me I'm not good enough, and expect me to be fine?
You tell me I'm too ugly, but get angry when I leave?
You disgust me.
But that doesn't mean much. You have let every scar on my wrist and every scar on my heart define who I am.
I'm tired of it.
I want you to accept me.
I guess that was never truly an option.
I love her. She's the reason I'm here.
So you tell her that I'm not decent enough. That she deserves more, not some
Beat-up depressed piece of garbage that you met
In eighth grade choir class.
You've ripped out my heart,
And cut it to pieces.
You've destroyed my happiness, along with
Any bit of love I had.
I hope your fucking happy.
