It's that time of the year again,
I have to see them once more.
I've got a change in appearance,
and a sharp edge on my words.
They want me to apologize,
but for what, I did nothing wrong.
They're hypocrites, every last one of them.
I'm not angry at them,
rather at myself for not realizing sooner.
Now I have to go through the same old ****,
loneliness, resentment, all the works.
The time has come,
and I have to deal with this again.

When I look into the mirror,
all I see is a broken person.
Someone's who's been through the worse things that life can offer.
Someone's who's been forgotten for all their life.
Someone's who's sick of it all.
I can't feel anything anymore.
I've put up a defense so thick that I can't feel anything anymore.
I look into my eyes.
I have eyes clouded with emotion, but I don't know what it is.
I can't tell what it is.

Why do I feel like I'm taken for granted?
Is it because you ******* off every chance you get?
Is it because I'm too nice to say anything?

Why do I feel like a ******* doormat?
Is it because you walk all over me?
Is it because you think I'll always be there for you, even after how you've treated me?

Why am I constantly disappointed in you?
Is it because I always give you the benefit of the doubt?
Or is it because you betray me without batting an eye?

Do you know how long I cried?
Did you even try to feel how I felt?
Did you forget that I had a conscience too?

Why are you so quick to make a joke of me?
If the air is tense with someone else because you ****** up, you always make fun of me who did nothing.

Remember when you said, "I'll be there for you, always."
Well now, I don't want you.
You're a ******* liar.

Remember those times when you'd say, "I love you too" whenever I got truly frustrated when you insulted me?
I'm going to say what I've meant to say ever since you've done that.
I'd sell you to Satan for ******* free.
But hell, you'd do the same thing.

I smile through it all,

the insults and the hurt,

hoping for the day

that I can stop this charade.

I'm absolutely sick of it.
I'm tired of
reading all of these poems
about sadness and despair.
No more.
All of you
are the strongest
and the most dedicated,
or you wouldn't be here.
I ask of you,
pick yourself up
one more time,
and fight for yourself.
No one else will.