i stand in the mirror for hours
wondering what it is about me that makes me so easy to replace
i stand over the sink and try to wash the words "use me" off my forehead
only to find out it was tattooed on to my skin
i run my fingers down my body and feel every single name of the boys that came after you carved on to me like a name on a grave stone
i place my hand on my heart but feel no beat

because see they talk about death as in the ones who leave forever, but they never talk about the ones that have died but are still walking this earth
they don't talk about the ones with fake smiles and laughs that are just illusions
illusions so you can't see that they are just completely empty inside
a walking grave

i stand in the mirror for hours
wondering what it is about me that makes me so easy to replace

but now i know- no one can love someone that's already dead

you begin to remember when you felt more like a home instead of an abandoned house

back when there were locks and you felt safe. Before the day he left and took away the door but forgot the welcome mat laying at the entrance, for all the strangers passing by to see  

and they talk about how you're haunted and walk through your halls for a quick thrill at night but never in the day. They vandalize you and tear you apart, then leave to go back to their better homes. Ones with doors and happiness

all you are is a symbol of what use to be, what could have been. Old pictures still hanging up showing that at one point love did live here. Now with your broken windows everyone can see right through you

all you want is for someone to just ******* stay, someone to take these broken shingles and run down walls and fix it and make you feel loved

all you want is for someone to make you a home again

ethan
it was beautiful outside on the day you were laid to rest
the sun was shinning and the birds were chirping
but inside was nothing but rain in my chest

they said "don't hate the addict hate the drug"
"he's in a better place now, he's  free"
and i couldn't help but look down at my shaking hands and hate the addict- me

it's easy to hate a pill but how do i learn to hate a drug when my drug of choice was always you
escaped your reality through a quick high and and a line
but i only escaped mine, when i was by your side

you're gone you're gone you're gone
and i'm going through withdrawals
i need you
i need my high

maybe someday they will say she's finally free too - when i die

sometimes i wonder if when i die
in my after life i will be with you again
or if it will finally be a life free of your memory

a dream i woke up with the names of every past lover who left me carved on to my skin

i want to write about how your touch fit perfectly on parts of my body where others hands have never seem to fit before
i want to write about movie dates and sunsets and how i started wearing my old band tshirts again
i want to write about sober nights and sober mornings, and the feeling of waking up next to someone holding me again
i want to write about how I've spent so much time writing about him but i don't want to anymore
i want to write about happiness

i want to write about you

a dream i keep trying to write "I'm sorry" with chalk on your driveway but it's pouring rain