It doesn't matter what color you'd bleed if you'd cut yourself. It doesn't matter what you did last Friday or what you've already got planned for the weekend after that, how much rage you're going to make with the best of so called buddies, or even how many times you came "this close" to almost dying.
But I fell for that **** because it was scary and because it was everything I taught myself to never want in anything that meant it could fill me but I used you to feel full and not so empty and tempted to engage myself in something that would worry my mother if she knew all the secrets.
It doesn't matter what you've done before and how good that makes you now at what you tricked me into doing. It doesn't matter how fast you talk or how many people you can choose to falsely idolize because of a stereotype or a media buildup.
No one was ever crowned king because of self proclamation. You have to earn a rule like that.
It doesn't matter, to you, who you hurt as long as you gain something when you get there. And that was me, sadly, who you got in between some bad timing and a little self loathing. I just wanted to feel good and you let me do that in the most wrong, disgusting, abusive way. And it doesn't matter what people say to you in the morning, how many high five's you get or how long it'll be remembered.
All that matters is that when you're drunk at the creek on another "turnt up" night of losing yourself in illusions your insecurities lead you to believe you're thinking of me. You're thinking of how good something so real like me could be if you only gave up your blinded trust for one second so you could see what you're turning into and what I guess I thought you always could be.