I Just Do...

Yet, there's more...
I secondguess my own motives. I wish I was dead. I stayed over guilt, or what was it?
Dread?
Why does it hurt so much? I hate this part of my life, my death... my undeath...
The change hurts. Or is it my pride?
I wish I could hear from somebody. I have no friends once again...
Ehhh, I probably do, but I can't hear them anymore. I can't hear anything but what I want to hear...
Which is nothing. I can't hear you... I can't hear you anymore. If I ever get back to where I was before I will continue to grind away at, not build upon, what undid me. You hurt me, Martha, more than I've ever let anyone hurt me. It'd have been better if you'd slapped or spit upon my face and just told me to fuck off. When I kissed you, I meant it. Always did I mean it. It hurts me to think you may have kissed me and didn't mean it at the time, like you did it to keep the wolves you thought were at bay...
I bared myself. To you. As much as I could...
I tasted life as you would show it to me. I didn't try to kill it. You could've told me that night that you'd moved out. Was I too late, even then
I get it...
Pain for me, a learning experience. Then why does it feel like I was revenged upon?
Answer in the title.