There is a reason I never want to wake up, leave my room, or get out of bed in general. There's a reason why I'm so stressed and the thought of killing you seems sweeter. Yes I have a big mouth, but it's only because I have to shout over you so much. Maybe if I'm louder you'll hear me. Or maybe if you shut your mouth to listen instead of interrupt me all the time you would understand me. But even then, I'll never tell you anything. You'll never know of my privet life, of my struggles, the things I've gone through. Why? Because I know you don't care. And you'll turn around and blame it on me instead like you always do. I hate when I get sick because it's apparently always my fault. There's a reason I never tell you anything. There's a reason why I always wish I'd die.