The truth is, you have no idea of how much you hurt me. I
can laugh and pretend I'm alright, but I'm breaking inside,
I'm screaming for you to hear me, but you're too deaf to
even comprehend that the thought that I could even say a
word aloud. Critize me for being quiet, it's all your fault.
I'm tired of playing games with you, I want the days we used
to have back. I want for you to remember that I am here,
that I need you. You're so blind, and I can't open your
eyes. You make up your bloody excuses and expect me to
swallow them with no objections, but, I choke them back up
and begin to cry over your manipulations.
The truth is, I'm so tired of being hurt. Of casually being
forgotten as you run off and and then later expect me to
welcome you with open arms. I don't want to hear your
insults, they're no longer funny. You jokes make me want to
rip your head off and beat it into the ground. Your
insistance that I should talk more is only your ignorance
speaking. I don't talk because I'll end up getting angry and
be unable to say what I need to say. I grow angry over your
blindness, of your inablitiy to see that your actions aren't
as they should be. You've forgotten how to treat me. And,
I've never forgotten anything that you've done.
The truth is, I'm in worse shape than before. I've let
prophecies become true, I'm emptier than ever. The truth is,
this is worse than dragging knifes across my skin. These
words are written in cold tears and warm crimson blood.
Written by a heart that never wanted for you to take
advantage...written by a soul that's become broken.
What I know now is worse than death, but I'll continue to
play the games. I'll continue to pretend I'm ok, and that
I'm not hurt. I'll continue to be quiet, and act like these
words were never written, I'll continue writing my hatred
for you down, and expressing my utmost love in sarcastic
words. Sarcasm that I hope tears you apart. Hatred that I
hope causes your heart to break and your eyes to finally
open. Keep one eye open love, maybe you'll begin to see in a
few pale colors. Truth is, I don't want to hurt you with my
words.
Truth is, you pretend you want to hear them, you try to
convince yourself that you do, but each time you grow quiet
and become afraid of me.
Truth is, I want to break you apart piece by small painful
piece.
Truth is, I'm alone, cold and afraid, begging for a warm
touch but feeling the numbness of your hand.
But, it doesn't matter and never will, you'll never read
this, you'll never know, you'll never understand. You can
dig as deep as possibly, but you'll never find what's buried
inside, under the decaying flowers, a grave dug with my own
hands, in my efforts to run from you.
You can never stop these feelings inside of me. I'm prepared
to let all of this go, but I can't release it just yet...
So many things I've left unsaid, so many actions I wish I
could have taken, so many memories I wish I could forget, so
many times I wish I could make you act differently. There
are so many times I wish I wasn't such a dreamer, thinking
of fairy tales that will never occur, and finish in a
tragic, bloody ending. I'm slipping away, falling farther,
losing more ground.
But bring on more pain, I swallow it down, and beg for more.
Maybe it'll make me stronger, maybe it'll make me hate you
more. So much for three blissful months, laced in pain.
Maybe you'll remember when I'm gone that you might have
found some sort of happiness. Maybe you'll realize before
that happens what you've done. Maybe you'll see and maybe
it'll plague you as it does to me.
Truth is, I hate you.
The truth is, I love you.
Maybe I'll sleep tonight with no more crying. Maybe I'll
stop lying to myself.

::ok so this was wriiten for my ez bestfriend, if he ever
reads this, and understands this....  idunno, but i d ont
wnat him to apologize anymore cause i know its fake...::