I’m hanging by a thread and I hope it will lose soon. I can’t
stand hanging on my own. Just alone in this forsaken bedroom of mine. I am
breathing through my routines and crying through my nights. You have no idea how I crave for someone to
actually give a shit about me, someone who wouldn't just looked at me and think
that I am crazy. I’m not just crazy; I’m full of heart and full of bullshit.
Your bullshit if I may be so precise. You called and you let me know what’s
what. You hang up, without asking of my day, my life. You called so you can ramble
and my phone number will be the one you dialed up whenever you need to dump
your bullshit off. You told me stories of your misfortune and stories of your
great friends who are always in need, in need of you. I am crumbling, destroyed
and you had no idea, or rather that you chose to pretend, to be blind of my
pain. I am angry all the time, because I have to be loyal, I have to wait for you;
I have to wait for someone who barely acknowledges my existence.