It's 2:45am on a day of a month and I know neither. I can hear the church bells ringing and I know that I've lost you for good this time; they may as well be funeral bells for whatever the **** we shared because you and I both know we can never work past this now. I cared too much and showed it too little, you cared too much and I couldn't bring myself to have faith in something so surreal to me that I would lay questioning it every single evening through to the next morning morning and if I couldn't even believe it when you told me you cared then how was I expected to be able to love when I've never seen anything but failed relationships and unhappy faces. I've been to one wedding in my life and that ended up with the bride and groom going their separate ways; my parents are mid-divorce and I've never seen my sister stay with someone for longer than a year. I was naïve to think I could ever love when all I've ever breathed is toxic air which killed the flowers in my lungs and the hope in my heart. It's 3:01am now and the church bells haven't rung, I'm starting to think they've realised there's no hope left for you and I, but I'm still clinging onto fraying ropes with worn out hands and a tired grasp on everything.

I wish I could take back every song I've ever sent to you, every book I've ever shared with you, every secret I've ever told you, every painting I've ever done for you and every photograph I've ever taken for you. I gave you every single piece of me that was up for grabs and then I reached around inside of myself to find more because I thought you were different and I thought you were going to piece each part together to make a complex but beautiful puzzle that only we could solve but instead you handed out the pieces of me to anyone and everyone that had the tiniest bit of interest until I was no longer my own person, or even yours; I belong to anyone you've ever given me to and you played it off as wanting everyone to appreciate the art but now I just wish I had kept myself secret because I'm left with all of these holes and missing parts and I'm forgetting how to function without them and the worst thing about all of this is that never once did you give me any parts of you and I thought you were just mysterious but I've realised you didn't want to make yourself vulnerable like I did to you but you never cared about me enough to stop me from ripping myself to shreds in front of your very eyes, both literally and metaphorically, because that would be too much like giving a **** and you'd be lying if you ever told me you knew how to do that.

I've never been a fan of the way ***** makes me wrinkle my nose and shake my head as it burns my throat but eventually I reached the point where I could swallow it and not show any sort of reaction. I wish the same thing could happen with the bitter taste of your name on my lips but every time I think I'm getting better at letting you slip past but then I'll choke on a memory and it's like I never even made any progress to start with. People like to say if it was the right person it will never be the wrong time, but you caught me at the height of my addiction and you're the strongest substance I've ever been able to get ahold of; you're bitter and you're strong and you have a grip on me that no one else has and I can hear voices telling me you're no good but you make me feel so ******* high that I can tell myself you're worth the comedown that is full of sadness and blood. And maybe one day I'll stop seeing the good in you but today isn't that day and I wouldn't be surprised if I was dead before I got the chance to leave in one piece. Maybe it's already too late and maybe you've already broken me like the bottles my father used to shatter against the wall or maybe it's more like when he used to put his cigarettes out on my arm and I could see each little piece of skin falling away from myself but either way I don't ever want to feel like that again. I think it might be too late.

I don't know what love is and I don't know if love is real but I do know that the only things I regret in life are not looking back when I walked away from you and not kissing you or showing you how much I cared. I regret letting myself leave and I regret not being there for you when you needed me the most and I regret not noticing the signs that you weren't doing so well. I don't know what love is and I don't know if love is real, but all of my 3am thoughts are based around you and I wish I'd done more to keep you around and if this is what love then you can count me out.

I thought you were my medicine but too much medicine can make you even more sick so I changed and said you were my bandage but bandages can be wrapped too tightly and cause further damage to the simplest of wounds. I wish I could come to my senses and admit that you are neither my medicine nor my bandage; you are my sickness and you are the slash across my ******* wrist that is leaking all of this blood and leaving me helpless and dangerously close to death. You are the poison that burns my throat and is slowing killing me and I never wanted to admit to my drinking problem but I'm soon to be six feet under and I don't even know if I want to cry out for help or not anymore.