I wake up every morning with a throbbing skull and I tell everyone it's hereditary but I know it's just you in the back of my head telling me you don't love me anymore. I guess when my heart of glass shattered you picked up the pieces and have carried them around with you ever since because you seem to be the only person with a match to the missing parts, and after giving you the only section that's still whole you have the nerve to tell me about her. "She means nothing" and I believe you but that doesn't matter when I'm the one who trusted in you when everyone else called you a fake.

She's probably never even noticed your eyes.