I don't wanna be loved. Don't wanna kiss. Don't wanna fuck. Twenty. No hope. Just pushing my luck. Staring at my shoes. These hoosier blues don't get me down as much as they used to.
Because I'm much happier walking down suburban streets than Chicago concrete when all I want is to be left alone.
I got these little cuts all over my hands from nights spent picking up broken glass and catching myself right before I eat shit.
And you're much happier watching me on the ground writhing around. But like a pig in shit, I feel at home.
I said that I missed you. You rolled your eyes and shook your head. I don't blame you. But won't someone save me from my friends that all hate me? They're not wrong.
I close my eyes and try to see through the black. No rest for a mind that can't get over the past. You said you loved me, well you lied. But that's okay, I lie all the time. I guess I don't have the right to complain. I'm just happier this way.
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