You are killing me. With each passing moment my mind wanders, and all psychotic imagery ensues, and gangster raps are underneath the pen in my hand, again. You are not busy. You are careless. I know. I've always known. But, it doesn't make this hurt any less. Acknowledge me. I'm sick of waiting, and I always have been. But the millions of words and phrases that fill my head, all describing you, cannot be said to your face, out of fear. What the fuck are you doing? What are you waiting for? What are you thinking? I caught a glimpse of humanity, of character, and feeling. But now that I'm chemical-free, you are gone, and back to being a shell of a human.I cannot ever tell what you're feeling, but I know it's not even a fraction of what i am. I have to do all the work. meet me half fucking way for once. Or better yet, YOU do something! OR at the very least tell me you want nothing to do with me, it'd be better than leaving me in the dark.
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