Sometimes when I'm laughing, I really just want to scream. Not just scream, but scream at you. Part of me would really love it, to take every useless, painful thought I've devoted to you these past two and a half years and just throw it in you your face. Another part of me would hate for you to ever let you know because you wouldn't be hurt by it all, you'd just offer me some pathetic apology and never look at me the same way again. Which might be a good thing because I'm not exactly thrilled with the way you look at me now. I don't ever wonder what you're thinking when you focus those sleepy eyes on me for a moment before looking away, because I can hear it. "You aren't good enough."

Well fuck you. God the things I would say if only I could. "I love you, but I fucking hate you. I want you to love me just so I can spit in your face, then you'll know what it was to be me all this time. Fuck. You." Maybe then I'd have the courage to walk away. That's right, man, sometimes I think about leaving the band so my heart can have a fucking chance to heal from all the scars you've left. Not intentionally because you're too fucking oblivious to realize how much your words, your silence, your eyes hurt me. It even hurts to be close to you, because I can only put one arm around you instead of two. Please, Lance, please. Look up at me one day and say you love me. Please, Lance, please.

But you never do, even when my mind, soul, and body behind that plea. It was the worst when you had that crush on JC, because you talked to me about it. Of course you would. You'd tell all your secrets to JC and only come to one when you needed to talk about how much you wanted him. There were times, dance rehearsals and shows, shit like that, when you would look at me and raise your eyebrows like I should be appreciating him, too. Really, I only ever wanted to throw a fit because you never looked at me like that. I mean, just what the fuck is wrong with me, huh? Am I really that ugly, that fat? The girls I dance with always say no with their eyes, their bodies, and that's why I fuck them. Because I know if I asked you, you'd just say, "Really, Joe, it's not about that. You're just not... my type, really."

Remember when I asked you who you'd stay friends with if one day JC and I had a horrible fight that broke up the band? You were over your crush on him, but you still wouldn't answer me. I just wanted to know that you really did like me, that even if I wasn't as "sexy" as JC, at least I was more fun to be around, but you couldn't even give me that.

I'm tired, Lance. Just tired of aching when I see you, of going to bed feel like someone chewed up my heart and spit it out. I'm tired of being in love with you because it's making me hate you and I don't want that, don't need that. Please, Lance, please, look up one day and say you love me.