This is good therapy dear, where my ink dries like blood I wish I got to draw from your veins. You're like a cookie jar of lies I always put my eager hand in. I'm always going back for more believing eachtime you wouldn't hurt me again. And since this bottles reaching empty, I guess I have the drunken right to say.. tonight I hate you. If I wasn't drunk I wouldn't say your selfish in your goodbyes. But you are. If i wasn't drunk I wouldn't say I hate you for leaving me when I know I'll need you the most. But I do. If it wasn't so easy to say these things now, I might say them sober in a less cruel away. But i won't. I wouldn't want to hit you in the stomach to show you how it felt when you said it was too hard to talk to me. But I do. If my words wouldn't slur I'd kindly explain the tears streaming down my face when you said you wouldn't talk to me again... for no reason... but your own selfish ones. So now I have to be drunk to explain anything to myself, to explain why the person who said they'd always love me and be my friend would leave me in the darkest period of my life. Where exactly did you misplace your heart? You heartless hearltess little girl.