The whore got what was coming to her: A not so indepth look at confusion and broken hearts.

One thing that keeps circling. I can't take off his sweatshirt. And why did I wear this today? This isn't at all how I pictured today. I wanted so badly to make things right. And why did I screw up like this? I've never felt quite this alone. Isolated. I should be able to run to you, but I know that I shouldn't -- that I can't -- because it's all my fault. The emptiness in his eyes. Because I cut out the feelings. Why didn't I stop it before it got this far? Dark corners and tears and I could hear his voice. How traumatizing that he walked right by the anguish -- radiating. How could something so safe hurt so bad? And why, god, why did he not stop to ask if i was alright? I've been craving his hold ever since he let go, and things were so distant. But I know it's all my fault because I just can't get the other out of my head, which shouldn't be so bad -- if I trusted you. It wouldn't be so bad, but all I can think to do is get on my knees and beg you not to leave -- like I've always been so afraid you would. And like he just did. Just promise, just promise, just promise, just promise, just promise, but what are those words, and, god, what is that stench? Motivation seems so impossible. How am I supposed to walk through halls and hear the laughter and be okay? How am I supposed to feel? Was it supposed to hurt like this? My eyes are so dry, so red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red marks. Is this what I resort to again, when I push all protection away? What is commitment? And why should I even ask at this age? This isn't supposed to happen now. I planned for this so much later, and I can't handle it right now. How is this my fault -- that you are too old for our age, and that I'm scared to death of losing you because I've never really had you till now? The waiting, waiting, waiting for what exactly? I'm never sure, but now it doesn't seem to matter so much. I was too afraid to jump into you, and now that his eyes don't keep me on the edge there's really nothing to do but fall and crash, crash, crash, crash, crash, crash, crash, burns, and cuts, and bruises, and the blood of so many nights ago. I can't believe I wrote him that note. And I begged, how pathetic. Begging. And he read, and he saw, and he knew, and he didn't care. He doesn't care. He stopped caring. And what the hell is love anyway? When he told me he loved me, what the fuck did it mean? And when I thought maybe I meant it, I guess I was wrong, wrong again, again for the thousandth time. What am I supposed to do? Snickers. I know they're there. And I know they think I deserve this all. How dare I hurt such a nice boy! They're all on his side, and I'm left in the halls at my locker. Oh, high school be gone, gone, gone, gone, gone, gone, gone, gone. Is this for real? Was it ever real? Is any of it real? Are you real? Are you worth this? Please, please please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please. Nothing makes sense. Please, please make it go away.