You especially don’t give a shit about me
What’s more important? Partying with your friends or me?
This, I hate to say it, is on you. I’ve done nothing but love
you and you couldn’t even try.
YOU are the reason I drink.
YOU are the reason I want
nothing more than to die every
single fucking day I have to yell
at my fucking mind to not think
about your body pressed against mine.
To not feel your body shake on top
of me as you finish inside me.
To not remember how naive I can
really be to honestly believe this
could ever work out.
When all you wanted was to shove
yourself inside me and despite me
fucking begging you not to, you kept
shushing me, telling me,
I’ll go slow, it’s only me.
Like that makes a fucking difference.
Explain that to the trauma my body
was still recovering from. You damn
well what you were doing. You
knew I didn’t want it, the tears running
down my face was a clear giveaway
but it was okay because eventually
I enjoyed it…..or did I?
Every fucking moment of my life is
consumed by the mere thought of you
and I fucking hate you for it.
You’re the reason I drink.
You’re the reason for what’s
been wrong with me for months.
The Blaming Me For Everything.
The God Damn Ultimatums.
You think I enjoyed feeling like shit?
Being forced to live within myself, lose my
whole sense of reality due to your gaslighting,
I cry myself to sleep because you decided to
bring a fucking girl home to our bed the day
I flew home?
Because while you were in a god
damn psych ward, I was sobbing
into your pillow, ripping up every
photo of us wondering why I was
never good enough for you.
Why I’ll never be the person you
want me to be and you always had
to fucking blame me for it.
You drive me to run my car off a
fucking cliff every time you play the
victim, acting like you’re the only one hurting
because you’re always so fucking selfish
you never realize that you’re the fucking
problem. You are everything I despise
in a person.
You’re the reason I fucking drink so I don’t
have to remember you ever again.