Don't blame me for your mistakes; though I may be one.
I don't need you pushing me to be better.
And at the same time pulling me to stay in the boundary you've made.
What I don't think you get is that I don't care about the clerk helping out somebody else, or that I didn't Barbie myself up for whatever cute stranger that'll look at me.
I don't care about any of them. Nor do I care about what you think.
Give me a gun and I will blow everybody's little pathetic egotistical head right off.
Nobody has the balls to do anything to stop me. And none of you want to admit that I have a problem. But you're the ones who have a problem. You see my scars, my cuts, my many marks and yet say nothing. None of you stand up for me. Not like I can stand up for me… And one of the worst things is that I constantly lie to your faces and as stupid as a lie it may be you still believe it's the truth. Well, none of it is. And one day you'll finally admit that you were wrong all along.