=D I MADE A BAKED POTATO!
I'm no un-creative, but that's what I was craving.

Give me one good reason to not snap at you.
Honestly, come on, spit something out, let's hear it, entertain me with it, surely I of all people could use a laugh.
What do you not understand? I AM IN PAIN. No, not physcial, the 8 advils took care of that quite nicely, emotional pain sweetheart. Pure, and raw. I've got fucking burnt and black insides, I've got a fucking shredded and tattered heart. What do you not understand? How does this confuse you?
I AM IN FUCKING PAIN. I HURT, DO I NEED TO SCREAM THIS AT YOU?! HOW MUCH STRONGER DO YOU WANT ME TO BE?!
Do you know how many fake smiles I have to put on? How HARD I have to work to seem okay to the rest of you?! IT FUCKING HURTS, AND IT'S GOING TO FUCKING KILL ME. I'm NOT kidding, It WILL kill me, with my own two little gruesome hands. And you don't get that.
I tell you, all the time, I hurt, I'm angry, I'm NOT okay, everything I do just screams it! What more do I need to say to you? Can you not help me? Can't do a fucking thing can you.
You see the cuts, you see the bruises. You don't say a word. I have to shove the facts into your face and make you cry, make myself cry, beg one of my close friends to shoot me. You still don't do anything.
I lie through my teeth to you, you make it all too easy. A little cut here, a few days without food there, a few shots here, couple tokes there. You let me do it all, with your knowladge.
You know, no one relaly knows what to do, but they hit panic mode, and they want to help.
It's nice and all, makes me want to hang on a little longer, if it's enough, I might change for a while, because they worry so much.
With you? Not so much, you just cry, and say, "I didn't know you felt this way, what do you want me to do"
I WANT YOU TO FREAKING THINK FOR YOURSELF, AND YOU TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT TO DO.
Yeah, sure, you can blame this on the TP class. Gee, I only suggest it to you 5 times saying we could spend more time together, another credit. Nope, wouldn't do it for you, John says it, and well hell! You're just going to jump right on the bandwagon. You text me while your getting high with someone else, when you bitch me out for doing that. You get mad at me because you don't know where your weed is, when you took it and put it somewhere. You hold my weed and my pipe, I don't know how much is in those bags, you could've used half a gram, and I wouldn't have noticed.
But oh, I trusted you carrying it, even though you've gotten caught, I trusted you. No, I don't really care that you got high with John, afterall, I left and I don't control what you do, fair enough. You know how it feels to be on the inside looking out, you got two weeks of it. Well, shit, that's nothing compared to me. You're always out getting high with someone else, always the one cutting the deals, sneaking out to get high, going to parties, going to sleepovers and getting baked out of your fucking mind.
You always call me, or text me, to tell me about it. Sure, it's nice to hear you're having fun, you know it's like getting a knife twisted into your feelings because you're left out.
Maybe you don't know left out as well as I do, he's a very close friend of mine. I've spent a good part of my life being left out. I make everything out to be so hard, don't I? Poor little victized Lisa, always left out, always getting the raw deal of things.
Yeah, well lifes a bitch and then you die. So suck it up, because it does happen like that, and that's how my cynical little point of view sees it.
I know, normal people don't get angry like this, maybe they do, maybe they just see things differently and don't have a problem with it. I happen to, yeah, it's great to know you're having a good time, maybe next time you could stop rubbing it in my face and just text me saying something a little easier to hear. "Yeah, we're getting high right now, where's my weed? It's no in the bag, where'd you put it?"
Everything else? I don't know, unless you have a thing for suicidal chicks, maybe you might want to think of something to say. And before you even think it's for attention, think again. Because you have no idea how many times I've woken up, when I was really trying to sleep forever.
I could do it, and I would do it, and I show you for a reason. Because I like to think you care, and I like to go to sleep keeping myself warm with the thought that maybe someone thinks I should hold on a few more years. But by the way you're acting? It's just getting harder and harder to lie to myself.
You don't say anything when you see my arm, you didn't want to say anything because it'll ruin the moment.
Is sex really more important than the cuts on your girlfriend's arm and stomach? Is getting laid that important to you?
I don't know, and at this point, I don't care. If you liked things the way they were, then fine, we'll keep them that way, and I'll smile for you just like I smile for everyone else, and you won't have to deal with this anymore, and it'll be like before.
The only reason I'm wasting my time telling you this, is because I love you, and I want you to love me back. And I care about you, and I want you to care about me back. And I want to feel like someone other than Colby, and Evan, and John, and Candy want me alive. They've fought far harder than you have, you know, Evan's gone to the extent to drag me down to the counsellor, to tell her everything? Sure, I didn't say anything and I booked it back upstairs before you could blink, but it made stop for a while, and just think that someone really cared.
So tell me before I waste my time, do you really care? Or am I just in this to get hurt even more.