What’s the point of anything? Why do I got out, why do I try? It’s all futile.
Pretending you’re okay and happy only lasts so long, and then you’re all alone in your room. By yourself. Left to think over how much of a fuck up you are.
And why did you even call me? To say hi? bullshit. You never even talk to me, unless it’s about you. I don’t matter, not anymore. I’m just someone that you call when you’re fucked up.
What’s to say this is even worth it
Who’s to say?
No one.
