July 25th, 1998 (estimated date)
Not long after I think I'm over you
I end up staring at myself in the bathroom mirror
hating what I see for ever letting myself be taken like this
I am the world's biggest ass
the most famous fool
Everybody knows who you're fucking
while you hand me the same old feel good cover stories
I try to remind myself it doesn't matter anymore.
But I guess we're both liars
You know I'm almost ready to die for this?
Can you picture me standing here in front of the mirror
watching my lie of control shatter?
The violent desire to end it all is so fucking huge—
Who the hell am I to argue?
One offhand comment from a random common friend
and the image of you opening your legs for someone else
consumes me with a bitter hatred I can't even describe.
God damn it, you were supposed to be mine.
And you twist the knife
by not understanding why we couldn't work it out.
Can't you see what has happened to me?
I might as well kill myself because I'm already dead.
Betrayal and humiliation and reality have killed my faith
in anything worth struggling for.
There's no point anymore.
I write even this in some vain attempt to share,
but nobody's listening.
Nobody ever really has.