Head leaning on my steering wheel in lot three, thinking of the things that are giving me anxiety. Been spending my nights in dives, eyes fixed on crooked forks and knives as if the answers right in front of me.
Mom tells me I look sick, Dad’s still not back from the graveyard shift. I guess by now I’m used to swallowing bricks. Your fucking picture by my bed, by all the hate and the neglect, and all the pain you made it seem like you were in.
I know what you’re all about, and the way you thought you had me figured out.
Just so you know, I’d rather die alone than spend another day with you. So don’t play the victim, you’re only playing yourself. You’ll never be anyone’s anything. And I’d be lying if I said that things went exactly as I planned. And I’d be lying if I said your photo is not still on my nightstand.
Your pain always used to fill up my life. I hope this makes you fill yours with mine. I know people never change. We both know people never change.
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