cut me a slice of bread and tell me not to come back in the morning. tell me not to call. tell me to forget it. we've been so trippy. i'm trying to forget about it. like, emotions. how many times do i have to say it? feel it. be it. watch it. i want something real with someone real with emotions i can tell them. whisper to them. there's no hide out anymore, it's just a fucked up wish list. every fountain should die for screwing me over. for making me feel so dramatic. pathetic. poetic. romantic. unrealistic. lets face it, i dont want to be a realist. but i fucking am. how many times will i deny it? i'm too afraid to jump up because some authority will push me down. poke me in the eye. tell me i'm wrong. and you can tell me ten million times that i dont have to do anything i dont want to. well tell that to Them when the needle of Their stare is digging into my hip. you see, all this nonsense hurts. all this fucked up sympathy is a drag. i'll tell you i'm unhappy, now give me some attention. now give me a cold smack in the face. let me feel the sting. scream. tell me i'm not what you want. you'll never want me. then hold me when it's my turn. my turn to scream. cry. die. -amanda