dear diary,

I know I havent wrote to you for a long time
but you have to understand a lot happened in my life

sometimes I feel bad because I know some people have it worse
but does that mean I can't feel like a worthless *******?

to be honest I don't know what to think or feel anymore
maybe I stopped writing because I felt like I was annoying
if I am annoying I'm sorry

last week I made a new friend, his name is Delorian
the truth is he doen't exist I made him up, but I act like he does, breath
just to feel less lonely, I need someone to be an outcast just like me
I can see and feel him though

does that make me weird?

last night I had a dream about him, he was very nice to me

thanks for listening, as always

you stopped loving yourself when they started loving you

it was the moment all the people around you opened their eyes
that you decided to keep them close, you kept pretending, you kept hope

Jersey just got colder when you packed your bags and left me for dead
I was crying in the hallway begging you to spend another day with me
but you said you never wanted to see my blue eyes again, and you went

it was like the world stopped turning that second you looked at me
the people on earth stopped breathing at that moment you said goodbye

my heart couldn't stop screaming, my lungs were getting out of air
talking is cheap and your talks were expensive, I had to pay it all..

you always wore a necklace with my name on it, you always were happy
I took away that smile when I came into your life, like the dark night sky

a day after the day you left, my life felt miserable yet wonderful

I could hear the broken kids whispering my name while riding my bike
they would call me things like hopeless and sad, cruel and ugly

but he never seemed to care about the whispers,
because I didn't loved him anyway.

the children with the masks starting to count down from six to zero
nobody knew what was happening yet they all knew what was going on
it was a sick and twisted game and there was no price you could win

the night was falling and the counting stopped and so did her heart
the angels were done beating her to death and the demons were laughing
the children with the masks were still smiling everything went wrong..

you could run for your life and all the humans you needed to save
but they will catch you, they will hunt you down and break you break...

two wrongs no rights all the broken ones lost each other that night

I wrote this poem because you never did

you were my friend and I loved you for everything you were
the tears you cried because you were insecure, not beautiful enough
the smiles you smiled because you could even enjoy the little things in life
the fights we had because we were always oh so stubborn..

we always found a way back to each other, that was our friendship
it was like a mountain and believe me at one point we did reach the top
but also at that point we were starting to fall down and we fell hard..

you were the one who always cared about me even when I didn't
but you also were the one who always was jealous at the things I had
most times because of me you never felt good enough that must hurt..
and I know I made some bad decisions and you didn't deserve my choices

but I wont ever forgive you for stabbing me, our friendship in the back
for leaving me when I needed you the most all because you were scared

she always was afraid, never had the guts to chase her own dreams
always lived up to the expectations from her mother, she was weak

you dropped out of school and started to gain weight, we could see
we drank more alcohol and let go of the stress and anger we felt..

both we had ways to deal with our problems, this was the end my dear

and I can still see you dancing in my room singing all the lyrics wrong
and I can still see you laying down in the grass counting the stars
and I can still hear you say how you would never leave me alone....

so this friendship was broken and so was a piece of my heart...
I hate you believe me I do but still you have my favorite memories..

the emotions were gone and so was the will to write magic.