I don't know how much more of this I can take
You relentlessly push and you shove and you bend me until I break.
Darling, I'm about to snap. So if I do, I suggest you wave farewell
You better believe that I will drag you with me down to hell.
I've let you walk through this break up squeaky clean and vandalize my name
I've heard your lies about me that have circled back around and they all sound so insane.
I try to play nice with you and give you some kind of credit
I've felt so bad for you up until this point and I've really just had it!
Say whatever you want about me to everyone if that's how you sleep better at night
Because at the end of the day I'm still doing just fine.
I don't need to trash your name or embarrass you, like you've tried to do me
You make yourself look foolish enough, you don't need my help baby.

You are nothing now,
but if I had the chance to wish one thing of you,
it is this:
(may your past rest in parenthesis)
only an aside in the monologue of life
a soliloquy to the fourth wall of dramatic irony
a bracketed prologue to your story  
interjecting an understanding of now and everything from now
in a seemingly never-ending pattern
as present becomes past and enters the parentheses

when your death came and your last words and thoughts slipped behind you
death was the only thing left unsheltered
as your brackets came to a close
but may you rest in every moment and memory you contained in interjection thus far,
(may you rest in parenthesis)

A perfect companion on a lonely night
The only star that shines bright

A perfect shield behind the real danger
The only thing that could seal the underlying anger

A perfect sound amidst all the noise
The only thing shining amongst the crowd

The light to the dark path ahead
A beacon of hope when everything else fails

The colors to the deaf world
A glimpse of sound to the blind man

The life source of the dying
A rope  to the falling girl

The reason to continue to exist
A simple yet big reason to live

I’m a cliché.
I’m a walking broken piece of glass,
insisting my glimmer is different
than all of the other fissures of society.
I seem to think there is something romantic
about living like I hate myself.
I am not only comfortable with being unhealthy,
I welcome it with kisses and perfume.