And I swear to God if you feel the indent where my body has been laying on this forsaken empty bed, it'd be warm. But I'm not warm, I'm not even warm when I'm fogging up the windows in your backseat, and sometimes you wonder why my nose is so cold while it's pressed into the spot between your shoulder and neck. I have no idea what I'm doing here, or how the hell you're still holding my hand, I've chained you to my wrists and told you to stay.
I've been able to pick your flaws like flowers and the petals spelled 'I love you' but they smelt like poison.
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