• I look every which way for you even if I know you won’t be around, my heart leaps in joy at all the stupid things you say to me but cries at all your harsh words that you never said.
    We've been friends for years. Or, so I thought. But apparently those years mean nothing to you. I have all the proof in the world. But you'd just ignore me like you always do.
    Proof such as you never come to me. I always have to go after you. You ignore me a lot. You flirt with everyone but me, too. Not that I expect you to but... you can’t deny it. I see you flirt with them. I know you do.
    But please, do you know what you do to me? I've loved you for so long. I see something that not many people do. I've gone emo because of you. I have self-conscious issues because of you. Because you make me feel like crap.
    You make me feel worthless. I don’t think that I deserve you. You make me feel so ugly. I want you, just to hold me. Hold me like I mean something. Can’t you just pretend? I wouldn’t know the difference. Please. I’m begging you. I love you. Don’t ignore me. I know I’m a bit obsessive but that’s because I love you. Why can’t you just be friends with me, even? I'd settle with that but you refuse to be near me. Am I that ugly and not popular?
    I would like to think that we're good friends since those few years. But, they mean nothing to you. You don’t even remember half of the things I'll never forget because they don’t mean anything to you. You never liked me. You never wanted me around. I was wrong to think we were friends. And, you remember that day I asked you if we were friends and you said yes? Well, after you left, I cried, right there, in the lunch room. Because it hurt. I should have been happy but no.
    For, how could I have been happy? I want you as more. Cuddling, snuggling, yeah. That’s what I want to do. Sweet words, maybe too. But, you're really not that type of guy, are you? No, you are, just not with me. What makes me so different then all the other chicks you hang around? Am I not pretty enough? Do I have to be popular? I can’t be popular. I’m not cool enough. Is that the problem? Dude. You hurt me so. Why do I love you? It’s not supposed to be this way. Really. It’s not.
    I don’t think that words can describe how much you've hurt me with all you've done or didn’t do and how much you said or didn't say and how much you don’t remember what I'll never forget. I cried more than you know. If all the tears I shed gathered into one big tear, it would drown our state with ease. It'd be like a big Tsunami. For once, I'd like to see you be rejected and see how it feels. I want you to suffer the way I do. You deserve it, don’t you? Or am I all wrong? Please do correct me if I am.
    That note you gave me in 7th grade, I still have it. I will always keep it because I love you. But, I have to ask, what did you do with all the things I gave you? That pillow in the shape of a heart, with your named sewed into it, what did you do with it? Please, tell me if you kept it. Tell me you didn't throw my "heart" away. Wait, you already did. You took it from me, and kept breaking it. But why? Why can’t you do something with me? Accept me or reject me. Either way, I’m going to cry.
    All I want is for you to love me. What’s so hard about it? Please. I’m not that ugly, am I? I’m not that pathetic, am I? I mean... I don’t think so. But, you're into other girls, aren’t you? And emo/goth people... it’s so frustrating. What's more frustrating is what you do to yourself. You cut yourself; you let people carve their names into you. Masochist or not, it most hurt. By you hurting yourself, letting others hurt you, you hurt me more. I don’t want to see you hurt. Why, why do you do it...?
    Sadly, I’m the idiot who loves you. There are lots of idiots that love you, but I’m the idiot you don’t pay any attention to. You don’t even know me. You don’t want to know me. You won’t let me know you, either. And, these cuts on my arm, well, surprisingly, they're not from you, but, they will be. One day, I’m going to drag the blade across my flesh, and it's going to be your fault. I'll drag the blade, and cover my weak body with scars. The scars will be the reminders of how many times you hurt me, of, many tears you made me cry.
    All these hidden feelings, all this hidden pain, all these choked up tears, you will see them one day. But by then, I'll be so far gone, that, even if you decided to care, or take responsibility, it'd be too late. It’ll be too far gone, and love wouldn't cross my mind as anything of importance. Only pain, misery, and frustration would suffice me when I become like you.