My ballad of hatred

Currently Listening to Gambler’s Blues by Dan Von Rock
 
Do you ever just overwhelmingly wish to shoot yourself
Like you know waking up is a physical challenge because your just that horrible and ugly and fat
And will never amount to anything your not only all those things but more because you will never feel the warmth of equally returned compassion and love and all around the beauty of what its like to be beautiful
Not only that but the promises you made yourself when you were younger that people would like you and that you would be beautiful and happy were all lies and that if you could go back in time and stop yourself from picking every single pimple, every single scab, and stop reopening every single emotional wear and tear of your heart that maybe just fucking maybe you would be happier today
 

That maybe you could change the person you are today to become someone more like Gianna Jacodsen not even just her that maybe you could just be someone different than yourself because people alywas like the sluttily pretty girl
Or the blue eyed blonde girl who can have a good time or the girl with the perfect nose and skinny minnie body that can eat whatever the hell she pleases and whatever she wants because it won’t affect the way she looks or cause people to hate her because no matter what personality you have. . with a face like that who really gives a rats ass

And with a dress that short who cares about your dreams and hopes for the future because in the end you were a pretty face
But instead of thinking i’m a pretty face i’m playing the game of whose dress is the shortest, whose laugh is the cutest, and how many times can i pick apart every singles flaw until it blurs into the emotional back wash of my depression 
How many goddamn times can i cut myself and not say anything how many fucking times i get away with have a crying spell and having no one notice. . .How many times can i pretend i’m confident or go through the same griefing period and internal rehab of me trying to boost myself up to everyone else and pretending to be confident just to do what Fucking crash into fucking nothing 
Because people like me are nothing we sit and cry and ingore the somber but somewhat comforting static in my head  
 

Like it brings you to wonder how many times you can look at the same mess your call a life and the same atrocity you call an appearance before you take the high road and decided to make it all go away on my own terms.

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