You made me feel like such a **** child and every attempt I made to hold your hand, you shook off and ignored until it was convenient for you.

Everything was so infantile to you. You had already reached goals I set for myself and you were bored. "Small" was synonymous with my dreams in your book.

Maybe I was naive, but you're rigid attitude towards me has taught me how to shed those jejune fantasies and keep everyone I meet at arms length.

I see no point in these frivolous feelings that used to steer me into shipwrecks. I'm too busy drinking bleach to **** these butterflies to answer your calls.