hockey, faggotry, mental illness
i fell for you at the start, but then we had to drift apart. now the line is coming round again and i'm falling backwards in love
it's been about a year since i broke my heart see, you didn't break it, it was me. my expectations of you, the concept of you in my head, destroyed me
when i found out what you really were
you were angry and upset not at me, by the way i should have held your hand you should have let yourself cry.
screaming, yelling, cursing, pushing, i should have held you back I should have comforted
and then on the bus he opened up to me i promised i'll stay with him and i should have held his hand
i'm a mean bitch. i know this, and i'm sorry.
i'm a mean bitch. but still, you go out of your way to say hi to me.
i'm a mean bitch. i'm ugly, fat, and dumb.
i'm just a mean bitch.
It's such a useless thing: A letterman without a jacket. I'm such a useless thing: A lonely fag without companion.
It doesn't really mean anything, that purple, black, and gold. A one and nine stuck on the sleeve, that champion patch on my heart, it's not worth any money.
I can get my name embroidered, but they still won't use it. I can get the inside quilted, but it'll still be cold.
That entire team doesn't care if I live or die. And some of them probably prefer the latter.
kanske kan vi bli perfekt pojkvänner men jag vet inte om han gillar mig jag önskar att han var gay
varför är du en jävla fjortis? varför är jag en man? jag vet att det här är fel men det här är min cell
du borde kanna dig speciell ingen annan vill ha dig lika mig perfekt pojkvänner
when i peel my skin back, am i more attractive? when i peel my skin back, am i still ugly?
what if i had no fat had no muscles had no bones
what if we were only colors are we complimentary? do we mix perfectly?
when i peel my skin back, and when you peel back yours i think we're two parts of one whole but i'll never have the proof
I catch you staring at me in the locker room. You're a shoe size 12 and a half, but you're also a freshie and a half.
Your dark, shining, curls of hair light eyes: blue or green? No clue. You wear your hat high on your head.
I can't have this happen again, I should know by now. Romance always finds its end in the locker room.
But my mind conjures up images— vivid, lucid love. I'm laying my head on your chest, and we're each others' other half.
maybe i should write a song, name it after you it's catchy like pnumonia filling up my lungs
maybe i wasn't meant to hear anything you said you'd rather be in a grave than be a fucking queer