I'm not angry,
not even annoyed,
I'm simply hurt.

Do I mean so little
that you enjoy
playing games with
my heart?

It hurts that sometimes
you care, and other
times you couldn't
give less of a ****.

Sometimes I'm your
sunshine,
and sometimes I'm
the rain on your
parade.

In the end, I know
that it's my fault,
I'm the one giving
you the power to
break me.

I find myself
getting childishly
envious of
people in the
streets who
are holding
cigarettes

"You knew of words,
but not meaning."