I suppose it's true
All this ******* is nothing new
You still seem to be blind to everything you put me through
Running around like a mental asylum patient, begging for an answer-what to do
I don't want to leave so soon
But my hatred for myself is growing in a way that I can't stop-that I can't help because you're making it so
And I can't breathe because all your oxygen from then til now has been coming from me
And I can't walk because suddenly the steps feel so heavy and the weight is too much while you live with scarce thoughts
Of me.
And I know that's not how it's supposed to be and you say you love
me but maybe that's just a way to keep your pleasure arriving while tomorrow I'll be
Crying.
You say you'll protect me from all hurt, you'll shield me from all pain, you'll make sure I am loved through and through
But this is where this question arises that I've pretended I didn't need to ask
Who, my love, is going to protect me
From you?