I call you on the phone,
Spill my feelings out to you.
You treat them as unimportant.
You say that its not your fault.
Why is it always about you?
Do you really have no heart?
Or just no heart for me.
I'm past the point of being a mess.
Figurative suicide passes my mind.
Killing everything that makes me care.
I've been there for you so often.
But now you just brush me by.
I am done with it all.
But most importantly, done with you.
So this is my suicide note
This is my goodby to you.
Though ill still be living.
I won't be living to you.
Not like you'll care though.
But if you decide that you do,
Ill make everything be about you.
This note was written for you.
Not because I care.
But because you don't.
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