don’t tell me that you miss me if you don’t. that’s lying. that’s playing with my feelings. that’s making me feel that I mattered when I never did. that’s making me feel that you need me when you don’t. I know that a lack of my existence in your life does not do any damage to your well being. you can live life perfectly fine without my presence. i hate the pretense. throw me with harsh honesty. at least I wouldn’t have been fool with surreal fantasies.
don’t shower me with compliments that lack genuine sincerity. don’t tell me I’m pretty when your words change the moment I leave. don’t tell me that I’m pretty when the image in the mirror says otherwise. don’t tell me I’m perfect when perfection cease to exists so how would I ever be perfect. don’t tell me I’m smart when everything I do doesn’t seem to reflect it. don’t tell me things delightful to hear, all so full of pretense, all of them I fear.