you say I talk about my feelings too much,
so I’m going to write them down for you instead:
I love you… and I fucking hate you.
You call me annoying, but I just think you’re weak.
You call me cute; this pisses me off.
You think I’m immature? You can’t even slap two pieces of bread together and call it a sandwich.
Yeah, a hoover for my birthday was a great gift,
I could use it to eliminate all the crap from my life.
One swing and you were down.
I’m glad you forgave me for that though, everything’s better.
Now we can get on with the rest of our
fucked up, beautiful life together.