Dickhead Its alright for you, you can say whatever the hell you like and you'll get sympathy. And if I dare say a word then I'm the bad guy. You can get pissed with your new bird who you're most likely shagging and saying shit about me like you don't even care anymore. Oh and why don't you try and erase all our good memories with a gallon of alcohol then probably blame me for your stupid pathetic hangover. Then when you feel sorry for yourself again text me for some more sympathy. But I'm sick of your shit. I feel the same as you. I may not have loved you as much as you did me, but I still miss your touch, your compliments and just knowing you were there. Knowing someone cared about me, even if nobody else did. But you were only partly there anyway, the other half of you was saying shit about me on a social network that you didn't realise I could reach. well guess what, I worry about you and I care about you. So much I read through your shit about me on Twitter everyday just to see if you're somewhat better. But instead I find out that I'm becoming a bigger bitch. I get no sympathy or attention. I can't drink away my regrets or feelings. I just have to lay here and picture you doing stuff with someone else that we used to do. I wish I had the guts to tell you all this to your face like you do to me, but I'm just not that kind of person. I'm not that heartless.