As I'm typing this sentence, Muse is playing in the background and I'm fiddling with a lighter.
Those who play with fire must not be afraid of getting burnt.
Just like you, don't you know what you're doing? Don't you know that I will never let you off, don't you know that I know you're just pretending to be my friend, don't you know that you are plastic and fake, and that no one likes you?
You terrible, terrible person. Understand and digest the fact that all your ways of trying to make me jealous by sticking to him is not working. It does not affect me, it just shows people really just how shallow, stupid, childish and slutty you are. And if you're going to continue your little performance, you'll really just have to get used to being labeled as a bitch.
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Feelings so insane, overpowering, mad. Wandering around aimlessly like a street spirit, feeling restless and alone. Silence and solitary confinement invades your every pore and cell, until you're driven to madness or your death, whichever comes first. How long can you keep you keep it up before you step off the ledge and fall to earth?
How long are you going to pretend you're fine, how long can you keep your secret. For how long more do you want to lie to people and to yourself that everything's together, when nothing's right anymore?
What are you running from.
Why now, God? Why me?
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