She was not fragile like a flower;
She was fragile like a bomb.

And I don’t say it, but I can’t help but to think that she might never find what she’s looking for. She’s always laughing just a little too loud, or answering just a little too quickly, or holding onto things that she should’ve let go of years ago….She is so thirsty for love that she drowns in it every time.

I’m not blaming you. I’m not mad and I don’t need to fight about it. You didn’t love me- and that isn’t your fault. You didn’t love me- and I’ll still be okay.

As it turns out, I’m easier to love from afar. Every time I open my mouth, I just bleed.

I had never believed in evil until I watched it sprout from your throat like some kind of invasive vine. And even though it might be naive to say, I still believe that there are flowers living somewhere inside you, fighting their way through the cracks in the pavement.

Don’t let him use love as an excuse.
If he can’t love you without your knees on the ground and his hands on your neck,
then he doesn’t get to love you at all.

Your lies drip like honey from your lips and fall like acid on my skin. So I spend hours on end tossing your words around in my mouth, biting at their edges, ******* out meanings that weren't even there to begin with. And instead of food, I fill my empty stomach with memories of you:
Those eyes.
Those lips.
That voice.
Those fists.
I'm living like you are the only thing I need to survive, like empty promises could somehow fill these holes that you've left. Like I could eat my own heart out and still be home in time to cook your dinner.