Tearing apart the seams of my sewn up heart, because I'm sick of feeling fake fixed.
I'm sick of all the insincere apologies, the half truths told to cover up the lies.
I'm sick of feeling like at any second the seams of my heart could break
open, because of an offhand word you say you didn't mean.

Scratching at the scars on my torn up mind, reminding myself that I made it through,
even when the universe said I couldn't. I'm sick of being doubted.
I'm sick of you saying I can't.

Pulling at the strings of my marionette life,
trying to remember how to work them by myself.
But you're the master puppeteer, controlling my every move.
I'm sick of being controlled. I'm sick of leaving my life in your hands,
only for you to leave it on a dusty shelf in the back of your attic
with all the other hearts you've stolen.

I'm sick of needing you.