He hit me today.

Mistakes are not experiences; they're failures.

I have failed.

I took a very long bath. Bathed less, cried more.

I made something up to tell Ma. 

I contemplated cutting my hair really short; it's hard to face self in the mirror; face the failure.
I think I will get a tattoo to outdo the 'pain', per se.

My friends tell me they'll fuck his happiness;

somehow that makes nothing better. It's all so hollow.

I don't need to be told he's a bastard.

I don't need to be told it's okay and I shouldn't waste any tears on him.

I don't need to offered a new perspective.

Not even for a second. It's almost like I want to be hit again to let it all out.

To do it right this time.

To get back at him.

One last dance with Mary Jane. One more time to kill the pain. 

Only, I don't think I will be able to kill it. That't the saddest part.

No. That's not the saddest part.

The saddest part is that it's going to stay forever;
not the swelling, not the pain;

the memory.

Ageless. Priceless.

"It sucks! 

You're too old for your age! 

WHY WON'T YOU ACT YOUR AGE???! aarrgghhh"

"Hariyali!! WHY WON'T YOU ACT YOURS???!!"

-Makes me feel new levels of cool each day. Don't go...  
P.S- I am NOT old for my age!!!