Like anybody can tell you, I am not a very nice man. I don’t know the word. I have always admired the villain, the outlaw, the son of a bitch. I don’t like the clean-shaven boy with the necktie and the good job. I like desperate men, men with broken teeth and broken minds and broken ways. They interest me. They are full of surprises and explosions. I also like vile women, drunk cursing bitches with loose stockings and sloppy mascara faces. I’m more interested in perverts than saints. I can relax with bums because I am a bum. I don’t like laws, morals, religions, rules. I don’t like to be shaped by society.
I know it can be hard for you to see how it hurts me, but I just wish you could understand. It may seem trivial, but it is a big deal to me. Every time you walk away it’s like a knife stabbing me. Because I was there for you when you needed me. I was there even when I didn’t really want to be, because I love you. I know you love me too, I’m not saying you don’t, it’s just, it’s just fucking killing me. We were so close. We did everything together. We had so much fun. You were alone and I offered my companionship, my friends, my life. I let you in. And you just won’t do the same for me, when I could really use it. I know we’re different now. I know I do things you don’t quite like, but does that mean you have to abandon me? You only want me around when you need something from me. Rather it be advice or a listening ear. I’m always here, no matter what. But for you, there are conditions. I thought it was supposed to be unconditional love. I thought it was us forever, no one could break the bond. But you’ve broken it. I know I’ve done my part, and I know sometimes I’m a sarcastic bitch, and other times I’m just plain mean, but when I’m mean, I do it for a reason. I don’t do it for nothing. I’m mean to make you hurt how you hurt me. I’m a bitch because I feel like that’s exactly what you are to me. An uncaring bitch. You were supposed to be there for me always. You were supposed to comfort me when I was upset. But you just don’t want to deal with my problems even when I just want you to listen. I just feel like you’ve lost all care for me. I disappointed you, and I know you must hold some resentment, but can’t you let it go? Can’t we move on from all that once was into what can be? Maybe you’re just embarrassed of me. But you know what, for a long time you were really fucking embarrassing, but I didn’t let that stop me because I love you and I’d put up with it. I’m nowhere near how you were. But you’re ashamed of me. And why, because I look a little different than others or because I smoke cigarettes, is that really good enough reason? The worst part is I can’t tell you this to your face. You’d never understand. You’d come at me with a sigh and a roll of your eyes. You don’t see it. You can’t see it, because you just don’t give a flying fuck.