I don't think my white shirt ever matched your leather vest.
Or that my clumsy attempts at showing emotions towards you, was a good idea.
I don't know why I fell in love. Please don't ask.
I feel pathetic as I weep these ridiculous tears
and I beg my mind to leave you alone.
But it wont.
In fact it doesn't care about white shirts matching leather vests
or hearts beating equally.  
I try to cut ever single thought about you away.
But you see, I don't do cutting any more.
Though I might be able to drown it or hang it -
or make its stomach into a fire of pills and liquor.
Yes I could make it stop by that.
But it is pathetic as well. Self loathing is for the weak.
I am not weak.
I drink wine and do those drunken things, that makes the next morning awful.
But I drink that wine good, and I smile and laugh with teeth and sound.
Yet the fact is;
I just don't match you good.