Fame hooker, prostitute wench, vomits her mind

Wouldn't that be ironic?
..to wash yourself down the drain.

Understanding

We match.

and I understand why now.

I think I've gone officially insane.

and I'm dragging those around me further and further down.

trade this life for something new.

"You look so much better now!"

"Wow, she looks bomb!"

"You look fantastic now!"

"She lost so much weight, she looks great now!"

"He must be really happy now, huh?"

What was wrong with me before?

I never was, and never will be perfect.

So I'll just lose more.

and never be the same again.

and maybe then people will love me.

and writing all of this, its magnificent..

like the blood forming on a new wound, I can't stop: it just continues to spill out.

I truly and utterly cannot stand anything about myself.

its all fake.

from the smiles to the clothing.

and I hate how everyone implies the word "now"

it's only further proving my idea that I wasn't good enough before.

Holding on to what I haven't got.

You make me feel so incredibly small, so incredibly pathetic.

Today, I realized I have no backbone. No strength to stand up for myself, my views, my beliefs.

and I'll bear your burdens. Shoulder your pain and your displeasure.

Take the lashings, because its just stress.

Everything will pass in time, it's just a phase.

Why do you make me feel so weak? Make me feel like I'm always at fault.

I just need to know, do I mean anything to you? Does it make you feel better, take the stress off, when you release your anger on me? I simply can't comprehend.

I think sometimes, it would be better if we were separate; and the thought always makes me cry, because I can't give you up.

So I'll wear myself thin with apologizes.

Finish another box of Kleenex; simply because I can.

and hide under my fortress of blankets and pillows; I just can't deal with reality.

I want to stay by your side, forever, but your making that increasingly difficult.

Pushing and shoving me out of the way; you hurt me.

You hurt my feelings, and I rarely say anything. I don't want to cause any more damage, any more harm and feelings of ill-will. I don't want to keep dragging us apart.

I'm consumed by the guilt; I realize now I'll never be good enough, not for you, never for you, but I'll try; try my very best. And with time, maybe you can generate the same feelings for me.

Maybe you can see yourself in the same positive light I've always noticed.