how many years will it take for you to stop?
it's been one, two, three, four, five, six, seven months since we split off, but you can't seem to leave me alone.
how kind of you to tell others—my friends—things that i already knew about myself.
she's an attention whore.
all i did was try. it was just a role in just a show.
all i did was try.
but then again
when you try and are rewarded with a red mark on your back in the shape of a hand, is it really trying at all?
is your trying really working?
in simple words, it's not.
i thought you loved me.
in the end, i suppose i was wrong.
after the feeling of the sting, the feeling of your palm driven flat against my back, i would much rather be alone with my thoughts than alone with you.
stop talking about me.
leave me alone.