Love is the urge to **** yourself
It’s the immediate feeling of self-doubt, self-hate, and self harm when you think of how you hurt the one you love
I know the feeling all too well, because. I hurt the one I love, in a way I can’t undo. And everyday I regret it, and feel the pain of it.
I feel the pain often, especially when the one I love is upset, because no matter what I go through, they’re going through something worse.
The one they love, betrayed them.
Belittled them
Made them feel inferior to one they never felt inferior to
And that’s my fault
Not anyone else's
Mine.
I’m not asking for pity
I’m not asking for excuses
I’m asking for forgiveness
And I think that’s selfish.
Me wanting it to go away is selfish in my own eyes
My mistake will live with me throughout my life
I won’t lose it, no matter how much I run.
Some days I think if I just stop running, and fade, it’ll all go away
And I’m right
It would.
Love is the urge to **** yourself

[Verse 1]
In the dark , We come out and play
We are its children, And were here to stay
Running through , Hungry for strays
No invitation, take me away
Im not cruel, But thats still what you see
Club to club, Come see this city with me
Hungry for life, Without your pity
I dont want it, But you give it

Still cant say she wont start up
Still cant say she wont start up a fight
You go city
Cause in the city of life she cant she cant wait

[Verse 2]
In the darkness, A killer awaits
To **** a life, And the lies you make
You do another, So this death can live
Just keep on dancing, To the movie your in
The smell of your sweat, Just lures me in
Your heartbeat, Does sing to me
Running feet, Beats my blood
My ghost inside you, Soon will be

Still cant say she wont start up
Still cant say she wont start up a fight
You go city
Cause in the city of life she cant she cant wait

Hungry for strays, hungry for life, no invitate your pity
[x8]

I dont want *** but you give it

Still cant say she wont start up
Still cant say she wont start up a fight
You go city
Cause in the city of life she cant she cant wait [x2]

[Verse 3]
Now its over, You've taken your life
The dark grows thin, And I'm left to hide
I don't regret it, But its sad anyway
Now were both dead, And scared of the black
This life of games, And diligent trust
Its the things we do, Or the things we must
Im now tired of being cussed
So go sleep forever end to dust

Writers: Nicholas Routledge, Michael di Francesco, Matthew van Schie, Tomek Archer, Alice Glass, Ethan Kath

People living in cardboard boxes ...
What are they doing there,
Are they there out of choice,
Or there in despair?

Are they there through their own fault,
Or is the blame society's at large,
Should you give them some free assistance,
Or have police put them on a charge?

Unlike the good samaritan,
You choose to walk on the other side,
Quite happy to debate lofty moral issues,
Until you meet reality, stumble and collide.

Cardboard City's inhabitants,
Are surely past redemption,
Would you really make that statement,
If in there, lived your son?

Shouldn't they help themselves more?
Perhaps they've already been trying,
All I know is they are fellow human beings,
And in the winter ... they are dying.

You want someone to fix your life,
Forget it, take some advice,
You have to fix it yourself,
Move your ownself,
Or it will rot on a shelf.
Be your own boss,
Earn your own money with no loss,
Have your own powers,
Don't be obligated or intimidated by others.
Don't turn to be validated by any one,
All these will happen,  
People will learn to respect you,
Your dear ones will be proud of you.

I kept you in my heart too long
knowing you were the perfect leech
parasites are meant to take over
especially, when you're already weak
You were the perfect distraction
but, you only gave me empty thrills
I needed you to be there for me
but turns out ghosts aren't real
I should have saw this coming
through your false sincerity
thought you had given me love
when all you gave me is pity
if my words are not verse,
then it is your name I shan't curse

Sometimes it feels as if I have no skin on.

Every blow of unfavorable wind
like thousands of needles
driven deep into exposed flesh.
Crowds of relentless, sandpaper-cloaked figures
tear off muscle, fiber by fiber
as they pass scraping by.
Gazes turn sunbeams into chisels
that carve fourth degree burns
into the sorry mess of these insides-turned-outsides.

Maybe I truly have no skin on. Maybe that's why they point at me.
Always with such pity, amusement
And disgust.