I'd rather choose to die young than be stuck here forever taking pills and taking shots and hoping my heart will feel better. Taking chance after chance but it feels like I'm dying. Not from fear or disappointment but because my father is crying.

And if I feel disenchanted, I hope the feeling won't last forever. I've been choking on words that are the only ones that matter. And if you wait for me here, then I swear I'll come back to you waiting patiently but I just don't know what to do.

Or what to say or what to feel and if my heart is made of steel, then it's not broken, it's just rusting. It's just heavy on my mind. And all the drawings and the letters, and the praying I'll feel better. And I'm not breaking, I'm just bruising. And how I wish that you were mine.