I’m sure you don’t know what you’ve done
Or maybe you do, and in that case you’re a sadistic *******,
But I’m pretty sure you don’t know what you’ve done
So let me tell you
You broke me down
And built me up and
Smashed me to pieces like Jenga
Made of blown sugar, I was fragile
And you shattered me
And with my cracked shell, I spilled forwards and out
And sobbed and cried because
That was me spilling out of me, that was me
I bared myself, showed the innermost workings of the factory
That I call my mind and you
Filled me with your lies
And half-truths and quarter-truths and
Take it with a grain of salt stories
Well, I took it with a dash of sugar.
And maybe that’s why now I’m writing you this letter,
This letter made of kitchen foil and steel,
This letter filled with my tears and
My ****** knuckle punches
Because when your lies
Those lies that fed me
And comforted me
And shielded me from you
Were exposed, laid naked in front of everyone
For the world to see and jeer at
Well, mine were too.