I really did love you,
but you're a bookworm
and I was just another book you read

I really did love you,
but you have a sweet-tooth
and I was just another chocolate you ate

I really did love you,
but you love to play fire
and I was just another match you lit

I really did love you,
but you were a chain-smoker
and I was just another pack of cigarettes

                                               - Marclesza Gee

You tell us to be who we are
But then judge us when you see our scars.

I couldn't keep myself when I awoke from throttling the route
As I choke myself on all the words that sound like some cop out

Everywhere I look, there's an emptiness
where you’re supposed to be.
I told the doctors how I see nothing in everything,
so they prescribed pills to help me see.

My room is always so cold
but your breath was so hot.
I told the doctors I still feel it on my neck
so they gave me more pills to make it stop.

I took the pills for years
but they haven’t helped at all
So I stopped the prescriptions
and started my downward fall.

The doctors will never fully understand
that I will always look for you everywhere I go.
Antidepressants and mood stabilizers are making my mind a
bomb, ready to blow.

When you told me you loved me
I thought that meant every part.
But when I told you I was pregnant
you started choosing which parts deserved
to be loved
and which parts did not.

We were both in such a dark place,
looking to feel anything.
And while you were looking,
I guess you found me.
We tried to **** happiness into each other,
**** the sadness away.
But no matter how many nights of
hot moans and heaving breathing on my neck,
nothing changed how we felt.
I found my way out of that hell,
but you buried yourself in it long ago,
but today your body joined you.
And I know I can work magics but
oh my gosh Ben,
not even I can **** the life into you now.

Everything around me is falling apart,
and I am trying my best to hold it together,
but I only have two hands.

Maybe the reason we spend night after night
staring at a blank paper
is because the words we so desperately need to write,
are words that have not yet been created.

Tell me that not every guy will
leave black tar in my chest,
Assure me that not every guy
is pollution to my soul.
Promise me that I won't be
coughing up their ashes forever.

So go ahead,
fill me with too many "I love you"s.
Inflate my lungs until they want to burst.
Teach me what it's like
to inhale something that won't hurt.

Show me what it's like to have clean air in my lungs.
*Let me breath you.

Do you even understand what "broken" means?
Do you even know how "broken" feels?
You have your pains and I have mine,
but these things that cause our heart aches are so different.
This isn't the "I might have been molested when I was really young but I don't remember" kind of pain. This is the "he came into my room at night and I still remember everything" kind of heart break.
And I am not putting your pains down and saying they are any less than mine, but how can you understand this feeling of heaviness on my chest when your lungs are always full of air? Maybe your lungs are stronger than mine, or maybe mine are just a little more burnt. But what I'm saying is, parts of me are broken that I never even thought could break.