the truth is–
in less than valiant attempts to appear a good friend (because you know, i could care less whether i really am, as i am
—a cynic, and know that you are not really my
i smile, watching you share stupid (really stupid) jokes/sloppy joe kissessecret looks that piss me off to watch;
you don’t see me clench my fists beneath the table because i’m supposed to be the one whose arms clasp your luscious (babealicious!) body to my ImPerFecT* ignore my ****
, i am laughing along with your jokes that make no sense
(hmmm what did she say)
, i am holding your hand while you cry for him.
, i am smiling as i watch you in his arms
, i am holding your hand while you cry for him, Dr. Phil on Wheels imparting advice “it’ll happen when it’s ready i’m sure yes of course you know that as well as i do be patient” (me, advising patience? what bullshit
(ooh, what you say)
and you are oblivious to how i glare at him.
you are blind to how he looks in my direction back off bitch lasers boring into my shoulders so i slump further than usual.
(it’s all for the best, because it is)
— the truth
the… the truth is
(the dark has only begun to fall)
(the doctor is in. show me your scars.)