She is right. I haven't put any words here in a very long time.
But I do have a reason.
If I did write what I was thinking.
It would just be a name.
And I get more tired of hearing her name than anyone.

And lately I just feel like a scuzbucket. I wish my heart didn't have selective feeling. Because I promise, when I hurt you...and I act like I don't care and you cry and I tell you to get the fuck away from my house...I really do feel it too.

Don't have serious conversations with me when I'm drunk.

It's a sordid tale...She hurt me, so now I'm hurting you and I can't have you who I really want, so now I'm talking to you...

And I wish you knew it...
I'm probably about to hurt you too...
It's over and you don't even know it.

Good day.