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Baby, if only you knew how badly it is I want to die.

Baby, if only you knew how often I imagine you being happy with someone else.

Baby, if only you knew how much I can see that you’re unhappy with me.

Baby, if only you knew how my anxieties eat me alive.

Baby, if only you knew how today I thought about you sometimes and spent the rest of the day wishing I could die.

Baby, if only you knew that I feel I am back there. Self-destructive and without dreams. Maybe I never got better.

Baby, if only you knew I picked up a cigarette today not to make you unhappy but because it made me feel better about being alive.

Baby, if only you knew how selfish I really am for wanting to love you when it isn’t making anyone happy anymore.

Baby, if only you knew how I sometimes wish I knew how to make you happy again.

Baby, if only you knew that I worked extra hard to be friendly to everyone today so I wouldn’t feel so lonely.

Baby, if only you knew my surprise in finding that it worked out somehow. I can live without you. It just takes a lot of alcohol, and cigarettes, and slow death, and pretending to enjoy the company of people I don’t like.

Baby, how much do you know?

I don’t know so much anymore.

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