A bottle in and I find solace at the bottom,
I lament this life and all of its problems,
is it wrong to long for something less monotonous?
Work. Eat. Sleep. Repeat.
Just to be forgotten.

I cut my teeth and paid my dues,
gave it my all, but it was never enough for you.
I’ve tried everything, what am I supposed to do?
When you still won’t leave me,
even though I’ve begged you to.

I look at this house and I see misery in the walls,
a history of long late nights, forsaken love and secret calls.
When was the last time I told you, “I loved you”, I can’t even recall,
or if there was ever a time
that I ever meant it at all.

We built this house and all of the memories it conceals,
but if you peel back the layers, see the emptiness revealed.
What started out as infatuation has bred a mutual hate,
I dream of snapping your ******* neck
and still say ‘I love you’ to your face.

This is what we’ve done to each other.
This is what we’ve become.

I’m not proud of what I am and I’m not scared of what you are,
But I am terrified we’ve missed the exit,
that we’ve taken this too far.
Is this all just a consequence
of falling in and out of love?
You either die happy together or live long enough
to tear each other apart.

Two empty seats by the kitchen, the smell of breakfast,
the coffee *** hissing. It’s all missing.
This doesn’t feel like home, this is a tomb.
The radio says your name and it’s repeated by the news,
they’re holding you in their prayers, begging that you come home soon.

I’m losing hope each day,
we’ve never spent this long apart
and without you this house is so ******* empty,
this world is so ******* dark.

And I feel utterly helpless, not knowing where you are.
They say that home is where the heart is, so where is my ******* heart?
Where is my ******* heart?