Love me, I mean.
You loved yourself, maybe.
You loved who you thought you knew, probably.
But you don’t love me.
I hate when people say that they love me
All the wrong people say it
All the people with sweet exteriors
And bitter hearts
All the people with good looking faces
And on the inside, rotten hearts
All the people who only love me
Because they don’t know who I am
You mean it to be honey off of your smooth tongue
But it’s the pain of dry ice
off of a sore, bleeding tongue,
with the pus sliding off,
So damaged that I
Have to look away
You used to say that you loved me,
You used to come close to tears trying to explain why how you could
love me and hate me at the same time, little girl.
You used to, and then you said words that buried so deep in my flesh that I—
All I know is that you lied.
You played dangerous games with your words, and when you were done, you apologized but you still meant it, you said.
Hell do you call that an
Hell can you say and do a thing like that and say you do not hate me
Hell are you going to
Go through life
Not caring when you
Hurt people like
People say that they love me