The dreams and the crying and the dreams and the crying and the wondering whatever the **** I did to deserve this. Waking up in a cold sweat, tangled in sheets and emotions that cling to my skin like scars, like tattoos, like you. Who the hell even cares right? Who cares about what I wake up as at two a.m., three a.m., four a.m., five a.m., noon. Who cares when I'm standing naked and still can't take off the things that weigh me down. Who ******* gives a **** about hearing that kind of news and not being able to forget how much it hurts. The knife that keeps on stabbing you in the chest, and you can't feel your feet or your arms or your fingers or your lips, but you can't escape the feeling in your chest -- the throbbing in your chest. My heart is too broken to break is what I used to comfort myself with, and now I can't sleep and now I can't move and now I  can't breathe and now I can't live without you.