Dear Shithead,
I screamed at you the entire 45 minutes it took me to get home from work tonight. I mean, I really screamed. I was fine until I heard lyrics that made me think of you.
‘You just don’t get it, you keep it copacetic. And you learn to accept it, you know you’re so pathetic.”
You can thank Local H for that one.
You wanna know exactly what I was screaming? Why I was screaming?
You’ve hurt everyone you’ve ever come in contact with. I cannot think of a single person you’ve left unscathed. I look into the eyes of your ‘friends’ and I know exactly how they feel, because you have fucked every one of us over.
But this is not about me or them, it is about you. Everything is always about you. I’ve got you figured out, you see. It took me some time, but I got it. I know you feel worthless, I can tell by the cuts on your arm where you’ve been playing the skin violin. And I know you’ve got to do something to make yourself feel valid; alive. Your solution: Manipulate every emotion you can get your hands on to make yourself feel important, powerful, and valid. You latch on like some parasite and suck people dry. When that person is so emotionally exhausted you unlatch your teeth and move on to the next victim, leaving emotional corpses strewn about. Well, I’m not your cocaine. I’m not your heroine.
You love me, you don’t. You love me, you don’t. We can’t be together, but maybe we can later. No, we can be together now. Wait, maybe not.
The silence, the distance. Next, a kiss on the cheek, a kiss behind closed doors.
You’re not indecisive, you’re a fucking incubus. It makes you feel good to have that kind of power over people. This is past the point of playing people, this is your drug. You cannot live without attention, affection, adoration because it is the only thing that will bring you out of your own pit of self pity and woe.
Woe. Woe is you, right? I fail to understand when mentally deficient became a cool thing. You think it is, because you wear it like a new pair of jeans and pair it with a cloak of mystery. After awhile, new jeans become old and worn out; you can soon see straight through them. That cloak is just hiding lies. Why keep everything so tight, if you’ve got nothing to hide?
I know what you’re hiding. You’re hiding the fact that you’re insecure about your individuality, you’re a compulsive liar, you can’t stand your self image, and you sit in your room and cry yourself to sleep in fear of being alone. You’re really well off financially but the underprivelaged kid image offers to steal so much more sympathy. You use cultural icons to identify with and make yourself seem cool.
“Keep the lies up, darling. You’re keeping all the girls interested, because what really lies inside isn’t worth the time.”
Now you’ve found a new fix, but this drug will fuck you up. See, when you’ve got these tracks on your arm for everyone to see, it’s not hard to predict whats going to happen. But this new addiction will kick your ass, darling. And I, for one, will stand down and let it happen.
I’m done with you. Please, unlatch your teeth, take the needle of me out of your skin, get me out of your airways. I’m a one of a kind fix, and you’ll never get another high like me again, love. I hope you crash so hard.
