It's only half past the point of no return,
And I'm just dying for a drink to get me by.
A cigarette in either hand would suffice,
Or a nice bit of snus to cure my sliced up wrists and my sliced up heart.
I never bled for you directly, better conditioned to waste away nights with ***** and poor decisions.
I don't know who decided that my plans were wrong and misguided,
But **** 'em.
I have been beaten down by the one I loved, to the extent that no one else should, not even her.
I just need a little of the bud I hate in order to quiet the demons that scream every waking moment without you.
I write to fight them off, to fight the sinking memories of "everything" we had, and force them into an airtight box, with an unbreakable seal.
So that not even ghost whispers of "I think I love you too" can taunt me.
I am steel, iron, titanium!
You will not break me.
You've done enough already with intention and I crave physical pain to prove your hatred.
But you never laid a hand on me, better equipped with sour words and a vice grip on my heart that wouldn't stop squeezing.

It's only half past eight,
And the sun is a distant memory, just like all the little moments we had that meant so much at the time.