I tried to save myself, but I couldn't.

My cigarettes are hidden in a red purse in the bottom drawer in my bathroom.
Along with the ****** wrappers left over from when you came over when my dad was out of town, that I was too afraid he would find when he emptied the trash when he got home.
I've only smoked a handful of cigarettes in my lifetime, but my lighters always seem to run out of fluid.
Because not even the burning incense to the left of my bed could mask the scent of you left in my nose for these eleven months.


I tried to save myself, but I couldn't.

My physical aches and pains stopped being curable by medicine, last April.
Maybe downing a handful of ibuprofen was a bad idea, because now I'm left with the heartburn caused by my worn away stomach lining, and the thought of you, loving her.
Oh the irony, fix the pain caused by pills, with a medication. But my lansoprazole can't prevent the pain in my chest caused by the look in your eyes when you talk about her.


I tried to save myself, but I couldn't.

My razors haven't been touched in the last seven months. Because you told me that the blood dripping from my thighs, caused guilt to drip from your chest, anger to spill from your head, so I made sure everything stayed where it should be.


I tried to save myself, but I couldn't.

These past few weeks I've been trying to help you get the girl, trying to help you get over the girl. But the girl is worth more than the efforts made by me, and the girl is more important to you, than I could ever try to be.

I tried to save you, but I couldn't.