I WASN'T THE ONE WHO CHANGED
I WASN'T THE ONE WHO BECAME AN ADDICT
I WASN'T THE ONE WHO TALKED DIFFERENT, WALKED DIFFERENT, LOOKED DIFFERENT, FELT DIFFERENT
I WASN'T THE ONE WHO ****** THIS RELATIONSHIP SO HARD THAT IT BROKE INTO A THOUSAND PIECES
BUT I HOPE WHEN YOU'RE WALKING ALL OVER IT YOUR FEET GET TORN TO SHREDS
I WASN'T THE ONE WHO ****** WITH MY MIND SO BADLY IT MELTED INTO A COLD BLACK MESS
BUT I HOPE WHEN YOU TALK **** ABOUT HOW MENTALLY ****** UP I WAS THAT YOU BREATHE IN COLD AIR WITH EVERY WORD
I WASN'T THE ONE ****** UP MY EMOTIONS SO THAT I DON'T KNOW WHAT HAPPINESS IS
BUT I HOPE WHEN YOU SEE JUST THAT EMITTING FROM MY BODY, EVERY PART OF YOU DIES INSIDE
I KNOW I'M A MESS RIGHT NOW AND YOU THINK I'LL COME BEGGING ON MY HANDS AND KNEES FOR YOUR LOVE AGAIN
BUT I HOPE WHEN YOU SEE THAT I CAN SMILE
WHEN YOU SEE THAT I CAN LAUGH
WHEN YOU SEE THAT I NOW SPARKLE BECAUSE I AM HAPPY
WHEN YOU SEE THAT I AM OKAY
I HOPE YOU REALIZE THAT YOU WERE THE ONE WHO ******* LEFT AND I AM GOING RIGHT

I tried really hard to be mad at you and blame you for the way we panned out. I did. But then I realized that you were ******* beautiful and honestly one of the greatest lessons. I don't need you and I never really needed you, I wanted you. I spent so much time breathing for you and trying to figure out why you couldn't love me but I know you did and that's why we weren't gonna work. You can never invest yourself into someone when you are dead. I'm dead and you are dead and we never had a chance to heal. You just need a chance to heal. Maybe love will never be your thing and maybe it's not real at all. Love has no definition and love can't just be spoken and it can't be acted and its not a real emotion let alone an essence. I enjoyed being with you, like physically around you and that was love when we were together. Outside of our bubble when we were home sitting on our phones writing about each other or just pretty much anything that was completely different. And maybe we weren't meant to actually be together but we were meant to teach each other. So yes. I understand now that you aren't healed and you have every right to want to be your own instead of being claimed as someone's. "You're mine" is a statement that can be so scary when everyone you ever let call you theirs completely ****** you over and left you thinking that everything ends badly so why begin it. So I get it and I thank you for giving me a chance to be vulnerable and let my walls down for once.

The heartbroken always become the heartbreakers. If you don't agree, spend the night with me.

It wasn't always like this. I wasn't always like this. I was happy. But it's been so long since I felt the warmth of that feeling, I no longer allow it for myself. I'm so use to the cold empty feeling of sadness that I don't need jackets. I don't need scarfs or sweaters or blankets or the touch of another human being because I've made peace with this monster. This disease. This virus that stomps around in my head and flows through my veins and fills my lungs. This thing is now a friend and I can't tell if that's a good thing or a bad thing, but it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter because it's never leaving. It has built a home inside me and refuses to leave. It grows every time I try to smile or laugh. It pushes the happiness out of me like that is the real disease. I don't know how to stop it from talking to me. During the day it whispers to me. During the night it screams. It screams so loud it's voice echoes and multiplies. It tells me stories of death and how beautiful he is. How soft and caring he is. How painless he is. How gentle he is. It tells me how death enters quietly so not to wake you in your sleep. How death slowly approaches you and softly caresses your hair out of your face. How death, with every touch, slowly strips every piece of life out of you. How death takes your hand and pulls the soul out of your dying, decaying, lifeless body. How death lovingly and carefully kisses your now ghostly lips and tells you everything is going to be okay. But I've always wondered, if death were to visit me, would he shiver when he touched me because I've been so cold for so long. Wouldn't that be something. If I could make death, the iciest thing you can imagine, feel cold for the first time. I wonder if he would weep when he saw everything in my mind. Wouldn't that be something. If I could make death cry. Would he feel remorse. Would he try and fix me rather than **** me. I dream of life after death. I think of how warm I'd feel. How soft the grass would be under my feet. How my jaw would ache from finally being able to smile. How my eyes would be blinded from finally seeing beauty. Wouldn't it be something if this sadness introduced me to death and finally gave me a life I have never lived.