Untitled.

I don't know why I'm still pouring my heart out to you, because at the end of the day I don't even know if I give a shit. The rest of the world seems to hate you as much as you hate it, and believe me it's been made very clear. Always with your poisonous words, daming everything to hell. And I know why you do it too, because in your mind you're so much better than them. I know because I do it too. I'm not sure if you love yourself, I'm not sure if you love me. You think the way you speak will do you good, but I think you need to open up first. The skin around my fingertips always bleed; start, stop, start, stop. I think that's how I feel about you.


S.