Letters To Gerard. [Frerard]

The Sixteenth Letter.

I don't believe this.

The fucking police had to bring you home because you decided that, in your drunken mind, you wanted to start a fight.

Good fucking job, Gerard.

I'm sick of this. I'm sick of you thinking that you can do what you want and pretending that I don't exist. I'm sick of your lies and your antics and I'm fucking sick of you.

You're so up yourself, aren't you? You think you're God's fucking gift, just because you're hot and you can draw and you can make friends. Well good for you.

I don't know how much more of this I can take. I want to leave. I want it to end. I want you to stop all this.

But it's you. You just do what you want.

Don't you?

--------------------------------------------------------------------------