I'm doing a great job at hating myself, but guess what, you 'oh so exemplary being,' so are you. It's my fucking fault and its your fucking fault for rubbing that all in my face, smearing my insolence until I can't breathe. Not that I ever fucking can in this place.
And don't ask me to explain what I can't begin to comprehend myself. All I know is it's all not enough. Expectations will be the death of me. If they havent been already.
I was going great until you decided to come on over and tell me I'm a disgraceful mess.
Guess you can predict the future or something.
I still miss you though. And you know what? I miss me the most.
I'm just making things worse.
And I don't even care that I'm screwing it all up.
Except that I do.
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