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.