it's 2 am and I'm up writing because I'm sick to my stomach and not because of the bottles of alcohol I just drained but because of your words still blistering my lips. my head aches; all I can hear is your voice. I can't tell if you're whispering or shouting, I've heard too much of both. awhile ago you told me you'd never leave me. yet here I am, trying to place band-aids on the pieces of my heart you've fractured. so why do I keep writing about you?