“Sorry I don’t love you.” A phrase I’ve grown accustomed to. Cause with you, if something isn’t wrong (something isn’t wrong) then something isn’t right
I wish you could be happy. They sell smiles by the bottle at the pharmacy. Why’s it seem like everybody knows, everyone but you? I think you’re overdue, how about you?
Did it hurt when your head hit the ground? Could you even make a sound? Cause I wouldn’t even know since we don’t even talk. I don’t even know if that’s something you want. I think we’re overdue, how about you?
You don’t even speak to me. Maybe if I cut off all my hair you would forget how much you hate my face, and maybe I could forget about you
Maybe if you cut off all your hair you would forget how much you hate yourself