We built this house and all of the memories it conceals,
but if you peel back the layers, see the emptiness revealed.
What started out as infatuation has bred a mutual hate,
I dream of snapping your ******* neck
and still say ‘I love you’ to your face.

This is what we’ve done to each other.
This is what we’ve become.

I’m not proud of what I am and I’m not scared of what you are,
But I am terrified we’ve missed the exit,
that we’ve taken this too far.
Is this all just a consequence
of falling in and out of love?
You either die happy together or live long enough
to tear each other apart.