Just so you know, you mean a lot to me. I may not mean a lot to you. But when the blade slides across my wrist I only think of you. How you always understood. How you'd laugh at the things I say. How you don't text or call me much anymore. I saved you from many ropes that could've chocked your future and all you could be. But the one who really chocked was me. And you don't care that I could die from dangerous highs and alcoholic beverages that taste almost as bitter as the final words you said to me. I watch you as you become better than me and I become one of those burn outs that no one will remember at a Highschool reunion. You may check to see if I'm okay once every 2 months and I smile even though I'm not okay. Not even the guns you shoot, the pills I swallow, or the liquor we both intoxicate ourselves with will make our lives easier. You try to forget while I'm trying so fucking hard to let go. And when you said
You never even loved me, well that's what hurts the most.
