I hate him, I hate him not, I hate him. The last chrysanthemum petal left my finger tips and your name shall never grace my lips again. Oh baby, this self-destructive mood suits me, I need you to abuse me. I’m sick of this sickly sweet affliction that you call love. Well, Miss Georgia isn’t worth my time. Let us come to blows again, seriously I need the abuse. Your lies are see-through. Can you see me? My lies burn my throat like cheap whiskey every time I say I’m okay, I promise. When will you see that your lies hurt me worse than my own?