Every person who has ever been my friend has ended up hating me.
I enthrall, and then I disappoint.
I’m your best friend, and then you get annoyed, and then eventually leave.
I have lost every single friend that have ever had.
Every single one.
And every single time I am painted as the bad guy.
Every single time.
I don’t want anyone to be my friend anymore.
I would rather be forgotten than hated.
I should’ve killed myself when I was 15.
If I didn’t tie my friend down into an apartment lease and if I didn’t take on a full-time position I would kill myself today.
But that’s what my finger nails are for, since a razor stings a little too much, I prefer the burn of scrapes and deep scratches.
And that’s what my whiskey is for, it’ll help me give myself an honest answer as to whether I want to spend the last of my money on a pistol…
… or stick my head underneath the wheel of the train when it goes by my house.
