Sometimes i wonder
what i see in you. curled in your cold hard shell,
draped in thorns, thorns that hurt
anyone wanton enough to dare approach.

i keep telling myself why do i care so much about what you say. i've nvr realli bothered much anyway about what others say abt me, so why you? u make it sound like you own me, in every other instance i'd have yelled at the person, but for you i just seem to get sad. depressed. i don't know what to do in front of you, because you don't give me any way out. i'm not here for ur own ego-boosting goddamnit. i'm not here for you to toss around like a rag doll in order to intimidate other would-be bullies.
And it hurts. hurts that you hold me in so low a regard. hurts that you treat me just like the very same people you despise and look down on. hurts because i could be one of those people in your very eyes. i should just leave you. yet i continue hurting myself by coming back again.
i really wish i could just go down on my knees and ask you to be a little nicer to me. just a little. but you'd despise me even further if i did. Or rather you'd just exploit the situation to the very end. but what can i do when your every comment seems to affect my entire day, until the night when i cry myself to sleep about you.
okay thats a little drama. i don't CRY myself to sleep about you, i just wallow around in my depression until i fall asleep. but then thats probably because i've been numbed till i can't cry anymore.
What is it you want from me?

These gaping wounds, self-inflicted
they serve as not scarlet warnings
but fond, rosy reminders... nay, bittersweet
memories of brushes with you. And a crimson hope
that the next will be less painful.