It makes me ******* sick.
Hearing you ask if I am happy,
Knowing very well that I can't be happy,
Knowing very well that when I needed you most, to just say, "there,there"
You disappeared.

I haven't been truly happy in four long years. I've grown up so much but it seems I've left only a trail of n'er shed tears.
It's a cold and bitter road, here
Looking into the past and seeing yourself,
Conquered by self defeating fear, to know I had so many chances and one left or one right, and more likely than not you'd still be near.

There is no forgiveness there's just rot. We call it moving forward, it's natural they say, but for me it's not. It's grim like the reaper and it keeps me up a lot flashes of flashes, of futures unwrought.

So you come to me now wondering how I've been. And these tortures of mind begin to circle in. I'm sly and smooth at first. But so very soon I'm pushing. Pressing. Reminding you of my desperate longing for a memory of you to end my phoney lonely self. You shut down. God you were always the best at shutting down, such an adorable abnoxious little tick.. **** I still love you. **** does it make me sick.