i write about you,
in my black book.
all the time.
i write about how much I hate you.
how much I want to punch you,
how much I want to shoot you,
how much I want to stab you.
how much I want to kill you.
//
"hey are you okay, erin?"
//
nope, and you know I'm not,
But you still fucking ask,
expecting me to say,
/
'yeh I'm alright mate how are you?'
/
you couldn't care less,
but you act like you do.
and that fucking kills me.
\
when I die,
I want you to know you killed me.
not me.
YOU.
YOU did nothing to help me,
nothing to save me,
nothing to be my friend.
nothing to stop me from dying.
YOU
you killed me man.
and you don't even care.
