Author Information
Complete And Utter Death
Folder:
July - December 2005 Hey.
Little Girl.
Isn't it about time you left me alone?
I'm sick and tired of hearing you drone,
On and on about shit that's flown me by,
You were his past,
Not mine,
I wonder why,
You think that I hate you,
And you think that I care,
That you think that he loves you,
Even though you're not there.
Collisions occur.
You'll get plenty of these.
Because let's face it honey,
You don't half do things in threes.
Falling.
Getting hurt.
Getting hurt even more.
I'm surprised you're still with us,
Frankly it's getting a bore.
If I were as seedy and pathetic as you,
I'd have quit all the crying and done what you should do.
Just end it all,
In one way or another.
At the end of the day,
Only your Mum, Dad and Brother,
Would notice that the cuts you brand on your arm,
Had done you one better and done you some harm.
You seriously think that he's your friend now,
Don't you?
You seriously think that he doesn't tell me,
About you?
The shit that you say,
Endlessly nagging in his ear,
Trying to pull on those heart strings.
But they're in my hands, my dear.
So on a final note,
I don't wish you the best,
All that I wish you,
Is complete and utter death.
