My nights consist of getting drunk and typing up messages to you but immediately erasing them. I could drown in a bottle of tequila and still only see your face.  

My nights consist of smoking **** so loud I can physically feel my heart echoing against my rib cages trying to escape this hurt you left me in.

My nights consist of razors so sharp that when they open my wrists they also open my eyes allowing the tears to fall.

My nights consist of many things that use to help me forget you, but are now a constant reminder that this hurt will never go away.

*My nights consist of missing you.