You know what makes me mad? Please don’t say me, you know I don’t want to hear that and I don’t want to make you think that you have so much power over me. You don’t… really, you don’t even understand me.
I’m pissed off at the world right now and it’s not because of you, it’s because I’m constantly travelling, never settling – not even figuratively – and my love interests just become crazier. It’s ironic really, it’s ironic how the moment I think I’ve got it and everything is put together just the way I want things to be, the Universe proves me wrong. No plans for you, boy. No settling. You like the crazy ones, right? The downright I’ll-machine-fuck-you-in-the-woods crazy, but they never call back and if they call back it’s really me who shouldn’t pick up.
I’m drowning in this notion of love that seems to be so unattainable it’s almost sickening. What is it with love that people are so intoxicated that they’re blind to unbearable flaws?
You’re not good for me and you’re not good for my life, but you told me you’d fuck my brains out so I said yes, I’ll go with you.
I’ll do that for you. I’ll be there for you. I’ll fall truly, madly, deeply in love with your charming psychopathic ass.
You know what? If you get to my age and still believe in love at first sight, you kinda deserve what you get. If at my age you’re out clubbing while babysitters (or your parents) stay with your child (that you’re supposed to be raising all on your own damn self) maybe, just fucking maybe, you deserve it. Get a life and then get that life together because I’m telling you that it’s no piece of cake being so emotionally fucked up that you’re honestly wondering why you’re even trying. It’s that simple.
Nobody is perfect. Find someone you can tolerate and if that someone tolerates you? Oh boy, they a keeper. You understand what I mean? You there? I didn’t think so.
This is beginning to feel like it’s curling up slowly and finding a throat to choke
I wish, but I could use a doctor, a love doctor if you know what I mean…
I mean that this is not me. You know that song from Keri Hilson, I think it’s called Energy? She’s singing about being sick and tired of sleeping with the enemy. I don’t want us to be the end of me either, but I can’t help it. I’m just drawn to disaster. I’m drawn to being fucked by train wreaks, it’s just that simple. And after they’re done with me, I’m left with drinking an entire box of wine and singing The right kind of wrong in the middle of the damn night. Say my name and I can’t fight anymore… Loving you isn’t really something I should do… I should try to be strong… but baby, you’re the right kind of wrooong. Glad I got that off my chest.
I just got a text from my friend asking me:
Who the fuck is the psycho who doesn’t listen to Bleeding Love when they’re heartbroken?
Ha! Preach. I keep bleeding, I keep keep bleeding love. You cut me open.
I’m out. And I’m drunk so one could say that I’m out like a… light. Hit me up if you’re so fucked up you’d think that dating me is a good idea. Bye.