A scared rabbit, and why shouldn't I be?

Those secrets that you’ve know
Well you’re the only one I’ve ever told
Like the summers as a child I spent alone
On the beach searching for gold
Make no mistake
I’m exactly
I’m exactly what you make me
And now I just want to dance at your funeral
Because I already paid the band
With the gold I found buried in the sand
Was I ever part of the life you had planned
Those secrets that you’ve known
Well you’re the only one I’ve ever told
Like that Christmas that I spent alone
Trying to stay alive until you got home
Visions of you with a stranger on a semen soaked love seat patterned floral
If you can cast the first stone
Well you can be the first to call me immoral
Make no mistake
I'm exactly
I'm exactly what you’ve made me.
And now I just want to dance at your funeral
Because I already paid the band
With the gold I found buried in the sand
Was I ever part of the life you had planned
Those secrets that you’ve known
Well you’re the only one I’ve ever told
Like the time you bailed me out of jail and you cried the whole way home
Then you left and I loved myself with a closed fist and your shampoo for added bliss
I must admit
I’ve gotten better since
I vomit blood when I’m my happiest
Make no mistake
Make no mistake
Make no mistake
I’m exactly
What
You
Made
Me
Those sects that you’ve known
Well you’re the only one I ever told
So I suggest you stop snooping though my things whenever I’m not home.

Relevance

I'm not in the business of acting out in the form of a scorned fifteen year old girl, so it’s hard to grasp why in the world people older than I act as such. Semi-stalking me is getting old . . . to everyone involved. Pine Lake, GA; Addison, TX; the list continues. Apparently, being internet savvy is not a trait everyone possesses.
I understand slight lurkage, whatever. But when you habitually check in on me, even while on--what I’m told--is probably a family vacay . . . get a grip. My abandoned blogspot: caught. I’m sure flickr was infiltrated the same time frame as blogspot, so I stopped 365. But I am not going to make things private and/or stop interwebbing because of one unstable blip in my other half's past. Like, if it’s irrelevant to your life--and my life is irrelevant--then it’s just borderline stalkerish. Desperation seems to have reached an all new low. Rest assured that any attempts at reconnecting, or whatever it is you're after are, laughable by my standards and get a mere “god-so-fuckin’-creepy” from him. Attempting to turn the tables, by the way, is ridiculous. Behind the safety of a privatized twitter account, no less. We have mutual friends, ma'am. And my tweet photos and misc. internet meters prove otherwise; screen captures included.
Either completely self absorbed or insecure; probably a mixture. I assure you the day-to-day annoyances I post here and there aren’t relevant to you or directed at you. My day-to-day annoyance at seeing the longitude and langitude match up from all my site meters is relevant and obnoxious. I’m sure, since you've successfully discovered and are regularly lurking my business on every social networking site or communication outlet I've touched, you know my routine and where I may be, so if you want to meet me so bad, like you cattily said, lurk on.
I've been told enough to get a synopsis of who you are: a girl with far too much time on her hands and . . . I'll spare you the gory details that miscellaneous shared acquaintances have given me. Maybe it just boils down to you getting too high to realize you're coming off as desperate or posting dumb shit and lurking yourself nuts, either way get some self control. Things are growing tiresome for everyone on the other end of someone else’s instability. Drop it and leave everyone the fuck alone.

maybe

I will pick this ole' guy back up. Things are okay I guess, kind of up in the air..typically that is how my world turns. Oh fuck, nevermind I hate this thing.