Sometimes I think I'd be better off dead
Than stuck in these thoughts that fill up my head.
I miss him much, and I'm so f*cking stressed.
I want to forget him but I'm still so obsessed.
I'm still in denial, and sometimes still hope
That regret is enough to undo this **** rope.
But my fingers are shaking and my vision grows white,
And the harder I try, the more it grows tight.
         If the further he goes, the closer I feel,
Am I falling for him, or just an ideal?
And now he's but a stranger to me,
And I to him, and it’s so **** lonely.
Does he still care? And what might he say
If I asked him to gamble himself and stay?
Would he hate me? Pity me? Or somehow realize
I'm a fickle, selfish woman he ought to despise?
       I confess that I made mistake on mistake--
I hurt him so much and caused his heartbreak.
I took him for granted, and somehow still do,
As if after all the pain I put him through,
"You still love me enough to let me have you."
       I'm a sucker for pain, and much too weak-willed
To take up my cross for the Blood that was spilled.
I'd rather have him now, and be less fulfilled.
Oh God, what a sinner I am, who hardly even tries
To move on from him and give up my lies
That I might fix "Us" with these selfish cries.
I try to persuade myself two contrary things--
One, that I love him, and that's why it stings,
And two, that I don't, and my heart only clings
To my love for love, or for company.
Oh, God, do you think there's a possibility
That the friend that I killed might somehow love me?