I Cannot Save You

From the orgies and the blow. From the inebriated "heartfelt" conversations that you have with drunk boys during the pre-dawn hours; thinking they are listening to (much less comprehending) the "real" you, when all they're really waiting for is for you to shut your mouth so they can fuck you...not understand you. From the rotating turnstile of boy, after boy, after boy, after boy who always end up letting you down in some way or another in due time; even when your eager little heart told you otherwise from the beginning. From that lonely feeling that nobody in this world truly understands you, or will accept you if they knew you, or the fact that you feel you can't give love. From the ego-centric fog that flows through the people in your surroundings, blinding them to the rest of the world and even themselves. From the self-righteous-psuedo-intellectualism doused in an overly-spoiled adherence to life during the height of their days. From the esteem-killing cycle of relationships that last only three or four months when they all turn out to be shit anyways. Much to your chagrin, the next one in line always ends up the same. Maybe if you took some time for yourself and figured out who you really are and what you really want...things might take on a different perspective. Maybe if you didn't have a consant love interest on your plate at all times...but I can't save you from your synapses. From that little roller coaster you find yourself on, reacting to the ups like they were the best, and the downs like they were the worst, not meaning what you say, and saying what you mean. From those little human idiosyncrasies that net the blame for inconsiderate selfishness. From the poisonous way you see yourself. From your hypocrisies and blinding damnation of someone else when you see their's. From the evil side of you that derails you at times and chokes the life from you. From the way you treated me and the accountability that comes with it when you're confronted by me. From your cleverly disguised lies; which you tell straight through your teeth in much the same way a rifle would shoot ice-cold bullets into the chest of another. From the hurt that your own lies cause you. From the walls you build up to keep people from them. From the people who are sour with you and have nefarious fun at your expense without you being the wiser. From your failures. From your past. From your guilt. From your inability to put it behind you and let go. From your condescension towards those you consider less capable and adaptive than you. From your elitism. From your sanctimonious bullshit. From your attention-grabbing. From the people who have hurt you over and over. I cannot save you from my anger towards you, and I cannot save you from truly knowing deep in your heart, that you felt loved at least once in your life, and that haunting little sting that resides there.

See, the problem with you is that you let the things that hurt you define you. You identify with it and you let it become your identity.

Are you mad that I'm mad? You shouldn't be. This should all be comfortably expected. I have a multitude of reasons; each of them you should already be well aware of. None of them, less substantial than the last. Is this gonna motivate you to prove me wrong? I hope so. Is it going to send you into a downward spiral of anger and resentment? Who knows. Does this validate your reasons to brush me aside? I have a pretty good guess. I'm sure you're too cool to let this bother you. Too apathetic towards these words to let them irritate you. Too collected to let it ruin your day. But the simple fact of the matter is, I've been too nice to you. I'm putting many things behind me in this time, the least of which is you.

I cannot save you from yourself. And I will not try.

You don't know everything, angry little girl.