Addicted to everything you are
Going crazy without you here
Think I'm starting to go through withdrawals
I would give anything to have you near

Sometimes hear voices in my head
Well, scratch the s, only one
Your voice, repeating things you've said
Scared that I'm coming undone

Talk to my reflection and say
The things I want to say to you
I never will, I'm too afraid
You don't feel the same way I do

I spend nights crying my brain to sleep
Because I own no hand to hold
Don't know how to stop the tears
I shake even though not cold

Can't focus on anything
Your face always on my mind
Keep thinking about what I would do
If I could jump back in time amd rewind.

I yearn to feel your touch again
My heart broken and scarred
Everything hurts, morning air stings
Sobriety has never been so hard

i can hardly wait
to sleep in the grass.
rewrite a love song and
call it a night.

if only i could
see myself on stage
maybe we could skip
right to the part
where we win.

i couldnt believe
she left her favorite
song for something new.
maybe im no good
for an addict.
just here to speed
up the process.

id even dance
if thats what it took.
or maybe im a colorful
frame of reference.
how bad can it really be?

or maybe ive swam
too deep in the water
again. it wouldnt be the
first time i fell without
a place to land.

we could start as friends
or die as lovers.
or maybe even both
if we play our cards wrong.

Stuck in a life full of tragic
She wants to leave
And find her magic.
No, she’s not erratic.

Hides all her pride inside the attic
Of her mind
It's all just static
No, she's not dramatic.

She slips again, and starts to panic
She’s sinking fast
Like the Titanic
It’s just a habit, it’s automatic.
This isn't fairy tales that you read
It's ****** her dry she can't even bleed
She’s falling apart all over me.

She's in her room on the phone
Crying to me
That she's alone.
Her mind is stuck in traffic.

A pile of dreams under the bed
Once full of promise
Now torn to shreds, can’t admit it’s dead.

She tells me what she thought it would be.
Like it is on tv.
She’s no longer in the scene.
She picks it up right where she left it,
On the floor, she can't forget it.
This isn't magic.
This isn't habit.
This isn't tragic.
It's automatic.