In a lot of ways, I guess it never mattered to you. Whatever. I'm done, done, done. You keep pushing me away and pretending like everything's okay and become so completely self-absorbed that I can't handle it anymore. I'm done trying.

I guess our friendship ended at the point where everything become more important than our relationship and I guess that I just don’t fit into your busy schedule anymore and I guess nothing that we went through means anything and I guess that you don’t care anymore and I guess that you are just to chicken shit to say anything and I guess I’m a fool for trying to salvage our supposed “friendship”.

And for a moment, you were that sweet caring boy who I could never look in the eyes...and then you vanished.

It was a love song to our mutual hatred.

I could never be what you need.

He asked me what I sought after in a man. I replied all but the brutal reality. Truth is, what I want is you.

I'm OVER it.

Variety, influence, fluidity, vibrance, turbulence, accidents.

I'm not good enough for myself, how can I ever be good enough for anyone else?

Accepting failure is painful.

I keep telling myself that I should hate you, but I can't.

There's a part of me that still falls for you.

His words are like raindrops. Moist pellets that slip past lips and drip down chins, glistening and wet. Ruining and ravashing. Lifting and contricting.

To be skinny is to be beautiful.

Repeat until finished. Compute and complete. Purge from inside the ugliness kept so readily apparent.

Give me a fountain of cold, beatless breaths and heaving hearts.

I'm fixing imperfections and correcting wrongs until all that's left is pure perfection in nothingness.

I don't know what I ever saw in you.

It must have been difficult for you too, then.

I want to be weightless.

I want to start a band, become ridiculously famous, so that I can meet Robert Smith, have him do a song with me and inevitably fall in love with my charming personality.

Why do people reason that “love makes you do crazy things” like it makes up for all the stupid shit that two people end up doing?

The worst thing you can do is allow someone to become your everything.

I am...so glad that I'm over you.

Big was only beautiful in songs and soliloquies. Beauty in abundance is never real.

Desperately trying to convince myself it’s not my loss. But honestly, it is.

I don’t want anything permanent.

Sometimes, I'm so glad we were never together.

Here I go again, giving bits of my soul away, pushing my needs aside to please you.

I am an evil, evil woman. Don't be fooled by my shy eyes and hiding heart.

I gave up asking permission because I alone know what is right for me, or at least what I need to do.