There's a resentment that grows in me,
and I don't know when exactly
what day I became this bitter old man
stuck in the body of a **** young idiot.

I take my love wherever
it'll ******* come from now.
I yearn for anything.
Everything.
Death especially.

I don't wanna survive another winter.

The older I get 
the less the word terminal bothers me.
I put my worries in a box called god 
and when my faith is weak 
I dump them out and burn them 
on the altar of my ego,
scraps of worded paper 
up in flames, 
legal words, ugly words, 
kindling of the heart words, 
words that wreak havoc 
on the innocent.

I burn them all 
but never learn

I put my worries in a box called god

I thought I'd found it
Found you
Found the one.

You fit me
Completed me
Like the moon and the sun.

But you wanted more
Wasn't content
Couldn't be satisfied.

And I hated that
Hated you
And your useless lies.

See, we could have ruled the world
I made a spot in my plan for you
I could have had one of everything
You could have had it too.

Doll, I never quite wanted to break someone
As much as I wanted to put them together
And, no, you didn't manage to hurt me
But you've got me more than bitter.

I wasn't good enough
But here's one last huzzah; we tried
Because you don't get what you did
But here's one last hurrah and goodbye.

I hate the days away from school
Nearly as much as I hate school itself
Because when I'm away from the expectations
I can't even lie convincingly to myself.

I can't slap a smile onto my face
I can't laugh until I cry
I can't get rid of the emptiness
That clings desperately to my life.

Eventually, I simply sit and stare
Memorizing the popcorn ceiling
Pathetic, by my own right, and
Too far past merely empty
Yet, for some reason, still trying.

You cried.
Your eyes were red and misty and
I was guilty; it was my fault but
I thought you were beautiful then.

You cried.
Without shame and unabashedly
And I was torn between comforting you
Or committing the sight to memory.

You cried.
Though I've seen little emotion on your face
I'm **** well sure I've never felt awe
To see anyone cry without any sort of grace.

You cried.
Somehow, that inspired me to write.
You cried.
And instantly made a friend of me for life.

Thirteen years lead up to this
Figure out the rest of my life.
I could ruin it, I could make it here
I could do something wrong, something right.

Thirteen years and now I'm to choose
What exactly I plan to do
For the next two, three, four, five decades
After four, eight, twelve more years of school.

Stressed out and up an down
How on earth should I know?
I've got an idea but it's not the same
As my ideas some five years ago.

Shaking and stressed and completely confused
Because "It doesn't decide what you have to do,"
Except for thirteen years all I ever heard was
"Major in what you plan to live life through."

So I'm making the decision now
About what I maybe, sort of, not really, completely
Must spend the rest of my life doing
But, so far, all I've got is stress, really.

I missed you
But I won't say, "Hello," again
Because I'm tired of being
The conniving, barbaric, soulless friend.

To put it simply, I miss the thought of you
And hugs, and poetry, and stories, and conversations.
But I don't miss you, I don't miss the judgement
I don't miss feeling like I was so ******* useless.