And why is it always her?

And why am I never lucky?

Why am I stuck being worthless?

Fuck this.

I hate this shit and I just want it to fucking stop.

I mean, I never asked for any of this.

I never meant for any of this to happen.

and I'm so fucking sorry.

I fucked everything up.

And you'll never love me.

And I fucking know that.

And now it just hurts like hell every time I see you.

And I'm trying not to care.

But it just doesn't work that way.

So fuck all this.

I don't even care anymore.

I've dealt with what she's feeling every single goddamn day since september.

It's not new to me.

And I'm sick and tired of crying myself to sleep every night over some bastard who'll never give a shit.

He can go chase those girls who'll never love him like I do.

And he'll get his heart broken and then I'll be there to console him but he won't fucking pay attention to the way I look at him.

But who cares?

All three of the people in this know who they are.

So if you have to ask, it's not you.

The pretty girl always wins.

No matter how much you love them, they’ll never love you back.

When you tell them how much you care about them, music doesn’t start to play.

They don’t tell you that they love you too.

There’s no climatic kiss.

They just stare and you’re left wishing you’d kept it inside your throat.

When you cry all alone at night, Moonlight Sonata does not play over your sobs.

The moon doesn’t cast an eerie glow over the room.

It’s just black.

The only way you can actually tell you’re crying is that you can feel the warmth of the tears rolling down your cheeks.

No one ever asks if you need help.

If you’re okay.

They never ask what’s wrong.

They just complain about their problems.

And you let them wipe their tears on your shirt.

You never tell them.

You never tell that one person that matters most.

And when they pick someone else,

You can’t blame them.

You didn’t tell them.

They can’t read minds.

And now it’s too late.

And all the promises you made yourself blow away with the wind.

And you watch them kiss the other person; you hear them say “I love you.”

All you want to do is cry.

But you can’t.

You can’t because then they’ll know how you feel.

And they’re happy and if they see you it might upset them.

And that’s the last thing you want now.

So when they kiss, you turn away.

When they say “I love you” you plug your ears.

And you try with all your might to stuff your feelings away down inside you.

But you can’t.

So you stop seeing them.

You don’t call.

You completely isolate yourself from them.

But you still cry yourself to sleep.

Because you don’t see them anymore.

And you miss them.

So you call them up.

Ask to see them again.

And they agree.

And you ask how the person they’ve been seeing is.

And they tell you that the person broke their heart.

But there’s no victory in this.

Because their eyes are starting to fill with tears.

And now they’re crying.

So you wrap your arms around them and hug them.

And you kiss their forehead.

And you want nothing more than for them to stop.

To smile.

To light up your day.

But they can’t stop.

They’re brokenhearted.

And they can’t stop crying.

And you’re holding them and crying too.

And it’s all perfectly silent.

And no one knows about this tragic rendezvous.

Because you tell no one.

And they tell no one.

It just hurts too much.

And you scold them perhaps too harshly when they do stupid things.

Because you care about them.

And you don’t want to lose them.

And in every way, you two are perfect for each other.

Except for one problem.

They’ll always pick the person who’s not right for them.

Because after all,

Life is not like the movies

Wh4t if ii t4lkd lyke dis? Wud d4t m4k u gaiis cmmmt?

Should I tell you i'm someone I'm not, tell you bands I think are shit are amazing?

Should I be what you all want me to be?

No.

I won't whore myself out for popularity.

I'll leave that to the mainstream sluts.

I don't give a shit if I don't have people lying and telling me I'm gorgeous just because I told them I'm Pete Wentz's cousin's banker's poodle's hairdresser's best friend.

I have my friends.  My real friends...

...and I don't need all you phonies.

Stay gold;

Molly