Breakdown to the tune of Disarm, lying in bed, smashed like pumpkins, when love isn't enough, but it's all we have left. Disapproval in your vices, the way you turn away to light that piece, and even a roll around the sheets doesn't change anything, not anymore. Sex as an answer to a problem we're just beginning to realise we have, an answer of 'x' to a formula seeking why. And when the only words that come to mind are 'what's wrong now?' then maybe we shouldn't have anything to be wrong about in the first place. I'm just floating by and you're going nowhere fast, are we doing the same to ourselves now? Coasting and going nowhere? When simple pleasantries turn into a fight, when I defend, and when you don't listen, and it's all my fault that I snapped. Yeah, well, fuck you too. I don't need that shit in my life. All I ever did was take care of your sorry ass when no one else ever gave a fuck if you even came home. Go smoke a bowl and get over yourself, paranoia kicking in, it's all my fault that the world is out to get you, you stoned motherfucker.
Ruin my day.
Fuck you too. Love dwindles, a flame without any new kerosene, no one willing to step down, headbutting stubborness, killing what took so long to build. I'm so unsure of you and you do this. Like I couldn't find another boy. No one like you, with all your pitfalls and your addictions, all of the things that make you one sick, beautiful tragedy of a person, but someone. Hollow and broken. Crush me, I'm just a bird in your hand, but I hope my shattered bones cut your fingers, and I hope that one day you look back on those scars, and think of what exactly you destroyed that night.
Text me you're sorry, like a handful of characters on a back lit screen mean anything to me, anything but the fact that you are a coward. And I don't want to accept your calls, and when I do, all you say is you're sorry, but its still my fault. My fault you called me and yelled at me. Ohhh, now I understand. And to remember, as you always say, just how much you love me, you crazy son of a bitch. I know you do. You just have a really fucked up way of showing it, don't you?
Sex to make this lie fun, drugs to make us believe this is real. And even without them, sometimes it is fun, sometimes I really do believe in what we're doing. But I just skipped Thanksgiving with my family to be with you, and you're ever so appreciative. And these are the last months I have living with these people who love me for what I am, not as the thing they need to keep their life stable, and now I regret it.
Stability is all you really cling to, not me. Your daddy don't love you. Your mama don't love you. You have nothing. You have me. If I ended it with you, would you end it with you, too? Sigh and say, fuck me, I hate me too? This worries me so much, so often.
And yet, you are the sweetest boy, so caring and thoughtful. More caring and thoughtful than I could ever be. Always ready with dinner or presents, and I did nothing to deserve them. You're amazing. You're easily one of the best human beings I've ever met; you're caring, hardworking, optimistic. How could I not adore you? You give me reason to smile when there is nothing to smile about. Despite the flaws, you're perfect. It's why I love you.