It's so cold and morbid in the land of loneliness. I've subtracted myself from all of your equations, but I'm still feeling the crash of your dramatic waves. I tried to make myself invisible, but I failed. I've become good at that, haven't I? And it seems it's the one constant in my life; failure. At least I have one thing to look forward to. At least I know that I can change a million times but I will always be terribly good at failing. I've been subtracted, but you're still adding to my problems. Math was never my strongest point, but I still think I'm better at it than you. Is that rude; to assume I am so good at so many things? Maybe it's arrogance. Maybe it's self-centred vanity twisting around my snide remarks. At least I believe in myself, unlike all the pathetic excuses for teenagers nowadays. That makes me sound old; and in truth I am so much older than you. Maybe I'm a hypocritial bitch. Maybe I don't care. Maybe I've been waiting to tell you all of this. All of you. I don't care about your petty problems. I don't care about any of it. Don't you think we all have other things on our minds? I could write and write and write and you would never understand. None of you would. I'm still looking for something, anything, and I'm still failing and subtracting and working so hard for something that may or may not even exist. What the fuck is love anyways, and how do we know when we've found it? What's trust and what's contentment? The dictionary can't save us now. You can edit every picture in the world and we still won't think your beautiful. Beauty's on the inside as well, and you're so empty. I hate emptiness therefore I hate you. I'd like to say "I'm a bitch, so deal with it" but that doesn't fit me. I'm subtracting all of you, and you're not disappearing. I'm dividing your actions by your reasons and all I'm getting is confusion. I got 90 in math in grade nine, you know.