I want to call you but you don't want to talk to me. Which is understandable, considering every time our hearts collide it seems to leave us shattered.

But for some inexplicable reason I can't pull my mind far enough from you to fill the holes your bullets left in my heart. And the worst part is I'm not even angry, because I left scars on you when you intercepted the wounds that were intended for myself.

It's almost like we loved too hard that we forgot to let the other person breathe but we were scared that loosening the grip would lead to loneliness. And we are so hurt that its being projected onto the other person because its much easier to accept that you drove us apart instead of me.

I knew the words that spilled from my mouth were acid to your skin and they speak more about my insecurities than your downfalls. I drove a transport truck full of all the work we put into us straight into a wall but I tried and couldn't find the breaks.

The saddest part is that I can't even remember why I was angry, I think I was mostly scared of losing you. And I did that day.