you stole the words right from my pen.
Made my inspiration into your Bitch.
Destroyed everything that ever
caused my life to be more then a prayer or a fucking rehab clinic.
So forgive me if I hate you.
Forgive me if I hate how you've become
so Goddamn perfect.
Don't feed me your worthless pity and snide 'I'm so sorry's.
You didn't care how you left me.
You were practically an adult. How old was I?
Did you care or even know?
I was 12,
and I hate how I much I gave you that night.
That night left me helpless for years.
It's been what, almost six years,
and I still can't talk about it without crying.
I hate you for breaking down and
making me your confessor.
For giving me just enough to know what you had planned,
but not enough to let me stop it.
On second thought,
don't forgive me.
Just tell me you didn't forget me.
Or forget everything I gave up for you.