Trash I Write When I'm Sad II

Misery

Im fucking sick of this, //. Were in our Sophmore year, not fourth grade. Its time to grow the fuck up.
No-i - no, if you understand that then show it! Im doing what i never did! Im doing all the chores, im moving across the country, im trying to be the perfect daughter she never had!
And what are you? You sick on the same fuvking couch of filth everyday and curse at your friends. Hows that making mom happy?
You wont eat if she doesnt bring you anything, you wont bathe or get up if she wont yell at you.
Yknow, we all call you a mamas boy but youre obviously not. You wouldnt do shit for your mother. Not a single damn thing .
And how fucking selfish is that? Noe you try to argue.
"You fuckin retard i have better grades than you"
"What the hell are you talking about you barely do shit"

Yeah well im fucking sick of it.
Sick of seeing mom cry, sick of hearing her what ifs, sick of knowing that she doesnt like it down here. When will you realize its not all about us? Shes so damn depressed down here, bubba. Shes hours n hours away from her bestfriend, her family, her happiness.
But i dont want to chew you out about this. I just want us all do be happy. To be content.
And i just thought that if maybe i was the perfect daughter- maybe if i could make her proud somehow- that maybe everything would be okay