She smokes **** and she gets high. It hurts me and I don’t know why. I hate when she brings the **** to her mouth, when she throws her head back and her mood goes south, and she starts coughing hard and her eyes roll back.
The brain goes dumb and the smoke starts to attack her lungs and she already has a breathing problem and sleep apnea and smoking doesn’t solve em’. Doesn’t make em’ better. Just makes em’ worse, like my stupid-*** worries in every single verse. It’s like a curse that won’t end because she won’t stop, even though it hurts me and makes my heart drop into my stomach and crush the butterflies that we’re nesting and formed colonies enshrouded in her lies about using marijuana and she knows how much it hurts. So I retaliate and stop giving her my shirts. I stop being so clingy and I see her less and less, until I’m comfortable enough telling her not to undress, because I’m not that ***** and now I just feel sad almost every single day. If not, then I’m mad. This used to be a love parade where I would jump into her arms, but now this feels unhealthy and I think I’ve lost my charm. I think I’m not okay and I think she feels the same. She’s busy with her drugs and I guess I’m busy being lame, cause I don’t participate in illegal activity, so I’m a buzzkill with an abnormal affinity for a high school teenager, which is being healthy and staying out of danger. My trust seems to be the only thing that I’ll wager. I won’t stop loving her no matter how bad the pain gets. I might just need to ignore the unending thought mess, brain *****, **** yes, rid of it, I can’t take it, I’m done with this **** and I’m done with her baking it. I’m hating it and disliking her at this rate and my mind has trouble analyzing an ongoing debate whether or not I should leave her or stay by her side. My choice is a choice that will rise the tides and turn the tables. The tides of loneliness and tables of fables that are partially true, but basically biased. Breaking up with her would cause the highest form of tension that I’ve ever known. She would fall to the dirt and I’d vacate my thrown. I couldn’t give up the only love I’ve ever known. I couldn’t leave the intimacy, the whisper, the moan. I couldn’t leave the love that she shows me when she’s around, but I could leave the pain she gives me when she’s not inbound. It’s easier to love her when she’s by my side and I can hold her close and I can tell her she’s mine. She loves that noise and so do I. I’m ending this now. I need to go cry.
