I try to feel things, I just can't. Hollowed out, so very distant, that's how I stop myself from using, by watching from afar, I could be a character on tv, an actor, for all the emotion I can feel.
Men want to save me, as if that might save them. Like it's a contest, between them and heroin. They don't understand. In love, heroin will always win. It has already been decided.
I can't be your girlfriend. Or yours. Don't love me, because I can't love you.
Crushing my friends like old autumn leaves between my fingers. How can you fall in love so easily? I am a paper doll playing with scissors. I'm dangerous. I'm barely here. I'm barely anywhere. You love someone fictional, not me. I may not use heroin anymore, but it still owns me. Imagine, babies and picket fences now! I'd tear that fucking fence apart to get away. It would be nice to feel my hands bleeding for a bit, better than my heart.
I despise declarations and revelations. Don't tell me anything, everything you say gives me an excuse to use. Do you even see me, or are you seeing what you want to see? I'm messed up, I'm lost, I need to find myself before anyone else can.
I've trampled a bad path, hurting everyone. What are you all, masochists? That's my role. Go now, go.