I don't believe this.

The fucking police had to bring you home because you decided that, in your drunken mind, you wanted to start a fight.

Good fucking job, Gerard.

I'm sick of this. I'm sick of you thinking that you can do what you want and pretending that I don't exist. I'm sick of your lies and your antics and I'm fucking sick of .

You're so up yourself, aren't you? You think you're God's fucking gift, just because you're hot and you can draw and you can make friends. Well good for you.

I don't know how much more of this I can take. I want to leave. I want it to end. I want you to stop all this.

But it's you. You just do what you want.

Don't you?

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