Dead, dead, dead and buried, Alright!

Now, everything seems to be finished. But I know it has just started. I'm in the middle of the hurricane again, and I know she isn't another name from the Holy Bible, she's SHE, and no-one else.

I know I've been a little weird in my methods. I've chosen the strangest way to say her "I love you", and I know she hates me and she wants me out of her world right now. But I still feel that kind of stupid sensation, and I hate it, because it hurts.

I'm looking for some medicine, something good enough for my sick and stupid stomach and soul. I've discovered the effects of some soft drugs mixed with alcohol. They make me feel fine for a while, but later, I remember her face, and the way she says "you're crazy, after some weeks we won't meet again" and all that stuff that make me feel sad. And I cry and I hurt myself and I wish I was dead, dead, dead and buried. ALRIGHT!

I thought she whould've liked it very much. The surprise, the pages, the angels and the promises. But it all is scum in the end. I always do the same: I spoil some old friendship with my stupid drawings. They're damned.

I'm affraid. I'm affraid of talking to her. She whould hate me and stab me in the side and split my heart out of my chest. The phone bites my face and picks my hears and I feel my blood is like acid and I just want to jump out the window.

I think I love her too much. And it hurts. It hurts because she hates me. Now, her smiles are fake oasis. Her deep dark eyes, where I used to want to swim, are now like smoking machine guns waiting to shoot me. But I still feel the same, what a heartache. And I'm very sad and I don't know what to do or what to say or what to think. I just want to stop it all, stop being as I am, and become who she wanted. I whould like to stop existing.

FORGET HER NOW!, the people on the streets seems to say. I want to be over, with no return, no extra credits and no resurrection. I want to be under the ground, in company of my cold dead body, and my wooden case.

But it's not just for the few people loving me, the ones that help me stand as she used to do before I spoilt it all, isn't it? It's always me, always my stupid way to say I love you.

I must be strong and all that things but I think I'm drown in the middle of that kind of pitt, and everything's strange and I want to stop the world, and to put my brain out of my head and to shoot it and to be again under the ground. It's all a joke since the day I said "I love you".

Stupid. Stupid me. I though I could chase an angel. But everything I've got is pain and sadness and drawings I'll never send to nobody. I wanted to be her superhero, but angels don't need them. I whould like to be with her. To talk, to walk, to admire her. But now I'm the last in the list. I'm the one she'll forget. The only thing that will remain of all that years of I-don't-know-what-a-kind-of-friendship is... a great emptyness, and four stupid pages a drew for her, just because that was the only way I could say her "I love you". STUPID ME AGAIN.

But love is not just. Love is shit. Love stinks. And the way I express it also does. I hate myself. But I just don't want to hate her.
Old friends say "don't fool yourself, she's not behaving good" but I say "I'm not good enough for her". She'll be with her friends laghting and dancing and drinking and having a great time, and I'll be here, with the tears making deep paths trough my stupid fool face.

I feel so miserable that I just can cry and go on. Cry and go on.

I love you.

Do I? yes, I still do.

I love you.