You're a mess.

You're hell on earth,

cold as frost on Christmas Day.

The black rings around your eyes tell me all.

The scars marring your nearly-perfect skin tell me more.

Unlike anyone I've met,

you don't care that I don't love you,

because you don't love me yourself.

It's a take and take relationship,

but no one has to give,

because no one's really taking.

Neither of us is really living.

But I love the sleepless nights,

the blank and emotionless days.

It makes me feel better to know that you're broken, too.