Sunday, September 21, 2008
And so they claim.
@ 8:34 PM
Will you please excuse me? Thank you.
No one gives a damn, no one cares.
And so he said, "The sun is setting, the patient's dying." But of course, no one cares, no one gives a damn. And so he dies.
All this while. The strength, the care, the time, the mind, the sleep, the food, the money, the noise, the effort, the sweat, the ache, the beatings, the scoldings, the memories, the scars, the burns, the hits, the cuts, the shoutings, the witnesses, the don't-give-a-damn-s, the very-happy-s, the ignorance, the sweet revenge, the disregard, the disrespect, the old, the young, the innocent, the trust, the belief, the pitch.
THE FUCKING PAIN.
And so you claim you care. And so you think you've said all the thanks. And so you say that you have been working hard. And so you think forgetting is like shift+del the documents away.
If life was as easy as that, I would have shift+deleted you.
Stop asking me to forgive and forget. Stop asking me to fucking stop thinking about it. You gave me those scars, you remove them.
Why am I responsible for everything?
And so I cannot cry, I cannot feel sad. I am supposed to put this big, wide smile for you, and tell you, "Oh yay I'm so happy today, nothing happened at school."
Forgive and forget.
How many times already.
I exposed myself so thoroughly, and this is what you do to me.
I trust myself to you, and this is what you do to me.
Do I even worth a cent? Do I even worth a speck of dust? No?
You see none of me. Then why bother about me in the first place?
LEAVE ME ALONE THEN, BITCH.
Stop finding me, force-opening those wounds, add in salt and pepper and chilli, and zip them back up.
Amateur Surgeon works with a pizza cutter, paint and staplers. Those fucking bruises you left on me don't.
You do not just go to Popular, buy a damn stapler and stapler bullets, and staple the cuts up like attaching two pieces of paper to become one again. Even scotchtape works better than that.
What am I to you? Disposable doll? 10 for $1? Or those $0.80 "Made in China" toys from the vending machine?
If this is the kind of sympathy you are giving me, fine.
I love you so much, I get this.
I sleep while holding you tighter than ever, I get this.
You are not worth my worry at all, but I still do.
Why?
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
If you choose to take personal offence, then let it be. You left me to take my own personal offence also, you threw me off the cliff, with my collar hanging on the edge. You attempt to piece me back together, I put up whatever I can, then you throw me off to hell instead.
I hate you.
No one gives a damn, no one cares.
And so he said, "The sun is setting, the patient's dying." But of course, no one cares, no one gives a damn. And so he dies.
All this while. The strength, the care, the time, the mind, the sleep, the food, the money, the noise, the effort, the sweat, the ache, the beatings, the scoldings, the memories, the scars, the burns, the hits, the cuts, the shoutings, the witnesses, the don't-give-a-damn-s, the very-happy-s, the ignorance, the sweet revenge, the disregard, the disrespect, the old, the young, the innocent, the trust, the belief, the pitch.
THE FUCKING PAIN.
And so you claim you care. And so you think you've said all the thanks. And so you say that you have been working hard. And so you think forgetting is like shift+del the documents away.
If life was as easy as that, I would have shift+deleted you.
Stop asking me to forgive and forget. Stop asking me to fucking stop thinking about it. You gave me those scars, you remove them.
Why am I responsible for everything?
And so I cannot cry, I cannot feel sad. I am supposed to put this big, wide smile for you, and tell you, "Oh yay I'm so happy today, nothing happened at school."
Forgive and forget.
How many times already.
I exposed myself so thoroughly, and this is what you do to me.
I trust myself to you, and this is what you do to me.
Do I even worth a cent? Do I even worth a speck of dust? No?
You see none of me. Then why bother about me in the first place?
LEAVE ME ALONE THEN, BITCH.
Stop finding me, force-opening those wounds, add in salt and pepper and chilli, and zip them back up.
Amateur Surgeon works with a pizza cutter, paint and staplers. Those fucking bruises you left on me don't.
You do not just go to Popular, buy a damn stapler and stapler bullets, and staple the cuts up like attaching two pieces of paper to become one again. Even scotchtape works better than that.
What am I to you? Disposable doll? 10 for $1? Or those $0.80 "Made in China" toys from the vending machine?
If this is the kind of sympathy you are giving me, fine.
I love you so much, I get this.
I sleep while holding you tighter than ever, I get this.
You are not worth my worry at all, but I still do.
Why?
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
If you choose to take personal offence, then let it be. You left me to take my own personal offence also, you threw me off the cliff, with my collar hanging on the edge. You attempt to piece me back together, I put up whatever I can, then you throw me off to hell instead.
I hate you.