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Why won't it stop? Hasn't it tormented me long enough? Gah, I just want to scream right now! Just when I think it's finnally had its fill it comes back around to smack me in the face.

I thought I ******** hated you! I did ******** hate you! I knew it, they told me I did, that I hated you! ... So why don't I? Why, even after however long its been, do I still think of you? Think of you fondly even? Why do I feel like I've been ripped in two all over again, just from looking at your stupid ******** picture?? Why can't I stop shaking and crying over you like a love-spurned puppy? Why can't it all just go away???

Damn it! Why does it have to torment me like this? How can one glance at a PICTURE of you destroy the thick walls I had built around myself again to block you out, more than a month's worth of work?? Why can't I get rid of the stabbing pain inside my chest whenever I think of you, why can't I stop dreaming of you, why can't I stop having delusions about us? Why can't I just make it all go away? You don't love me anyway...

No one loves me for me, so that's a moot point. Two people come dangerously close, but I can't tell either of them about you, and they hate the part of me that loves you, that has anything to do with you. So why do I keep trying so damn hard? Why do I act like nothing's wrong, when the fact of the matter is that everything is wrong? Why do I have to be the scapegoat? Why did you have to lead me on and then, just when I was falling so hard over you, dump me out like yesterday's bathwater? And then entertain my sore, but continuing love with promises and sweet nothings about how you still loved me, that you were sorry and didn't mean it, that you were going to get back together with me once 'we could be together for good'? EVERYTHINGreminds me of you, now! Even the music that I'm using to keep you from making me cry again reminds me of you, because it's the kind of metal that you listen to! Why, why, why....

Why can't I just end it all? It would make everyone oh so happy.
Though my family would have to find another scapegoat. I think they would enjoy talking about how ******** up I was because I killed myself than have me alive to ridicule for every damn ******** little thing from my hair to the clothes I wear to how I act to who I like to my sexuality. So, oh please tell me, why oh why can't I just end it all?