i'm sick (of you)

i'm sick. i'm tired. i'm hurt. i'm fed up. (suffice - suffice). i'm sick of taking your shit. now i'm giving it all back. vomiting it all out on you (so you'll never be clean). i'm sick of you. i'm sick of them. i'm tired of trying to understand (why you had to fucking lie). i'm sorry i'm not what you want(ed)...or maybe i am what you want(ed) but i'm not what they want(ed). i'm sorry i embarrass you. maybe you'll be sorry when i'm found dead on the bathroom floor (while they say 'we. knew. she. was. a. psycho'.) if i were to die (from a beautiful, painfully sweet, and unregretted su.i.cide.) would you cry (maybe mourn) for me? i'm sick of you. so i'm giving you all your lies back and i never want them back (merry christmas and happie birthday). i have nothing for you but your own mistakes. i'm going to feed you all the lies and hurt you fed me (which i have already vomited out). i actually cried because of/for you. never again will i do that. i cried so many times and you have no idea how much it hurt. i wanted to rip out my heart out and throw it away so i could be numb and then i could just lie dead. but no, you kept me alive and put down the lies and started feeding me the poison. i easily drained the glasses of poison you gave me (thanks to the dirtiness of your lies - i am immune). would you like me to cut your initials onto my body (to show you how much it hurts)? i'm tired of you and you'll never apologize. you're too fucking blind to see what you did. you told me that i've changed a lot in a-not-so-good-way. guess. what? you've changed too. you're not the person i met nearly a year ago (the one that took the time to talk to me). the same person that used to mess around with me (that offered a smile every time i saw him). god, i miss him. now you're just...someone. i don't know/want you anymore. but damn, i still need you. lucky for you bastard - i can't destroy you like i wanted to. if i'm not important to you - why, why do you insist on messing with my head (why, why, why, why?). help me ignore (i’m fucking sick of you) i want to let this go, but somehow i can't...you only saw my tears twice (that’s two 2 times). both times you pretended to care (keep your poseur shit to y.o.u.r.s.e.l.f.) and i fucking tried to open up to you (to someone that didn't even fucking care). let me rip out your heart and let me see if it actually bleeds. why do you have to torture me like this? i'm sorry it's hell for you having to look/talk to me (am i really that ugly/unworthy?) i want to show you my hurt - but how can i? you won't listen. i can't show you the scars (you'll runaway scared). i can't write you a note (you'll share it with them) but i can write you this (stupid) poem (if it's one at all) that i wrote from 9:50pm to 10:50pm on Tuesday January 31, 2006. after i cut a star into my arm (just for you). the words before you are many, but i still have many more i need to say...

note: k, this is very different from what i usually write, but somehow it came out one night. i kind of like it. i didn’t format it because i’m not sure it would make sense with a format, so please don’t yell at me about that (there are some pretty blue buttons near the top right hand corner that could have made it easier to read). i don’t know if this really is a poem but it doesn’t seem like a prose…please review but no flames, please.