Your life is terrible, really.
You're pretty and surrounded by people who love you.
You want to hurt yourself because your day wasn't filled with glitter and sparkles like usual.
You want to put me on a leash and drag me behind you.
You want complete and total control because that's who you are.
You want to own me and tell me you're here for me.
No.
You're just breathing down my throat.
You look at me and roll your eyes-
Because my problems are stupid right?
So depression is stupid?
Being suicidal is stupid?
Never being good enough for anyone and feeling like if rather be dead is stupid?
Okay.
Maybe you'll think differently when I am dead.
