Listen up you stupid bitch!
I’m done!
I’m through!
Don’t fucking call me anymore, I don’t want to hear it.
All you do is whine and complain.
I’m done.
What? You don’t understand that?
Well, maybe I should bring the point home.
Maybe, instead of letting your words scar my soul,
I’ll get out a real knife, all sharpened up, ready to cut,
Put it to my heart, and PUSH.
Make metaphor reality.
What a concept!
You can’t even grasp it.
Stupid wenche.
Get over yourself.
I’m not hung up over your looks.
I’m not stuck on your ‘love’.
Puhleeze, I got over you fifteen months ago.
Y’know, I used to say the stars seem’d a whole helluva lot brighter,
When I was next to you, but now…
Now they’ve gone black.
So, shut the fuck up,
Move on,
I’m done, over and through.
What’s that?
you’re calling me again?
Guess it’s time to rush to the drawer and get out the knife.
Yes, I’m putting it to my heart.
What’s that you’re saying?
Oh, yes, it’s slipping in past my skin!
Oh, why not, I’ll give it a twist.
Oh…
Wait…
You called… to say what?
You called to say Sorry?
Fuck.
Shit.
I’m too young to die.
I didn’t mean it.
Can I take it back?
But now…
Everything just fades…
to black.