Cut my throat and let me bleed.
Your silence, love, is killing me.
A bomb went off inside my head.
But sadly, love, I’m not dead.
Not yet. Not yet. (I’m not dead)
Get out of my head. (I’m almost dead)
I’m not dead. (Not yet. Not yet)
These shackles are cutting my skin.
I don’t want to let the darkness in.
They’re sharp, so sharp.
The shards of a broken heart.
Get out of my head.
I’m not dead yet.

Hold me close
The blood is flowing
I'm not dead yet
But I might be going
Paint the roses red
With the dripping from my head
I'm not dead yet (Not yet),
Slit my throat
And watch me bleed
Your absence, love, is killing me
A bomb went off inside my head
But sadly love
Sadly love
Sadly love
(I'm not dead yet)

With every cycle the clock ticks
I escape the world from the back of the room
Through letters shaped as thoughts
Staring at where once was the moon

Seems pretty okay, right?
But you can’t write your sorrows on exams.
I would need the entire alphabet.
But I’m left with four bold letters at my hands

I began writing "I’m sorry" beside my name.
Answering questions with just because
I started leaving pages empty
I truly believed that’s what i’d become

When things came to an end,
I passed, but I failed to get better.
*- At least if i had actually failed, I would have gotten a second chance.

being dead inside is a paradox.
a contradiction. polar opposites.
you feel nothing at all, but at the same time you're feeling something.
there are no intense emotions yet, feeling so dead inside is an intense emotion in itself.
you're comforted by the fact that you won't feel any bad emotions but
at the same time, you're dissatisfied because you won't feel any good emotions either.
being dead inside is great when your lover leaves you, when your friend dies, when everything comes crumbling down at once ... because you won't feel it as much.
being dead inside is terrible when your lover tries to kiss you, when your friend invites you on a vacation, when everything starts coming together ... because you won't feel it as much either.

TWELVE. THAT'S THE NUMBER OF CHESTS I'VE GONE THROUGH - TRYING TO FILL YOUR SHOES OR AT LEAST COVER THE FOOTPRINTS YOU LEFT ON MY HEART BUT NONE OF THEM ARE LIGHTNING OR EVEN MATCHSTICKS NO MATTER HOW MUCH TEQUILA I POUR DOWN MY THROAT. I CALL YOU  THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY  BUT THE TRUTH IS YOU WERE GONE LONG BEFORE YOU LEFT AND NOW YOU'RE BACK BUT NOT HERE TO STAY. AND YOU'RE NOT THE SAME AND I KNOW YOU NEVER WILL BE BUT YOU DO THIS TO ME EVERY SINGLE ******* TIME. AND NOW YOUR EYES ARE GOING TO HAUNT ME WHEN I'M ASLEEP AND YOUR VOICE IS GOING TO HAUNT ME WHEN I'M AWAKE AND I'M GOING TO SIT AROUND AND COMPARE THEM TO THE NORTHERN LIGHTS AND NATURAL DISASTERS LIKE I HAVEN'T BEEN DOING JUST THAT FOR THE LAST NINETEEN MONTHS. NO MATTER HOW MANY TIMES I NAVIGATE THE BERMUDA TRIANGLE IT DOESN'T GET ANY EASIER AND THE WORST PART IS YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT.