Ready to die

She treats you the way she wishes someone would treat her. So please don’t be annoyed if she keeps asking if you’re alright. It’s just because no one ever asked her.

She liked painting, so she drew with silver but it came out red.

I get it. You want to help. But telling me you totally. Understand. Because you were depressed once. When your dog died. Makes me feel pathetic. Because that’s what you think. It is. And man it’s so much more. I am constantly fighting with. This fucking demon. In my brain. And I hate it. But I love it. And it’s confusing. I don’t get sad because memories. I get sad because. Well hell I don’t even know. So please. Don’t compare. My fucked up brain. To your sad story. Because it isn’t the same. And it never will be.