How can you expect to keep the friends you have, when you can't even keep their secrets?

I don't care why he's mad at me, I want to know why he wont forgive me.

I write for me, not for you. So why should I care what other people think of my words?

Maybe someday, I'll be better than this.
So much better,
that I'll need these scars on my arms
to humble me.

If being in love
means being hated when it's over,
then I could never be in love with you.

(it's kind of confusing, but mostly it means that we thought we were in love, he hates me, and i havent been able to get over him yet)