You turn up at his place uninvited and he lets you in.
It's late at night and you couldn't sleep and your mind is always on him.
You spend three hours crying in his bed.
You try to talk, try to tell him that you love him and it never goes away,
but there's a hollow nothing where your voice box used to be.
So he pulls you in tight against him,
head safe buried in his chest, mascara staining his white shirt.
And you whisper, "Sorry" over and over like it'll save you,
and he keeps telling you that you're ridiculous and it's him who's sorry.
And you need to leave because he won't fix this and there's nothing left.
So you stand and grab your things but you only cry more.
And he's in the doorway, blocking the exit -- his eyes are fixed on yours --
he's sure you're going to drive your car into a power pole on the way home.
You don't think you will, but he's not convinced.
Everyone believes the darkness has taken him only,
but that's your secret he's kept hidden.
So he's grabbing at your skin and his mouth is warm and wet,
and you love him so much you can't breathe sometimes.
so he throws you on his bed, fingers around your throat,
and you're choking and he's grinning and you're gasping
and you slap his face hard and laugh, destroying each other a little more.
And it's wild and raw, the love you share, a dangerous drug of a thing.
But it's still there, all-consuming.
And when you go to leave, he pulls you in once more,
a soft kiss, and your head is telling you that this will be the last time
you ever see that crooked, perfect face of his,
but your heart is beating out of your chest --
"no, there is always more."
It's late at night and you couldn't sleep and your mind is always on him.
You spend three hours crying in his bed.
You try to talk, try to tell him that you love him and it never goes away,
but there's a hollow nothing where your voice box used to be.
So he pulls you in tight against him,
head safe buried in his chest, mascara staining his white shirt.
And you whisper, "Sorry" over and over like it'll save you,
and he keeps telling you that you're ridiculous and it's him who's sorry.
And you need to leave because he won't fix this and there's nothing left.
So you stand and grab your things but you only cry more.
And he's in the doorway, blocking the exit -- his eyes are fixed on yours --
he's sure you're going to drive your car into a power pole on the way home.
You don't think you will, but he's not convinced.
Everyone believes the darkness has taken him only,
but that's your secret he's kept hidden.
So he's grabbing at your skin and his mouth is warm and wet,
and you love him so much you can't breathe sometimes.
so he throws you on his bed, fingers around your throat,
and you're choking and he's grinning and you're gasping
and you slap his face hard and laugh, destroying each other a little more.
And it's wild and raw, the love you share, a dangerous drug of a thing.
But it's still there, all-consuming.
And when you go to leave, he pulls you in once more,
a soft kiss, and your head is telling you that this will be the last time
you ever see that crooked, perfect face of his,
but your heart is beating out of your chest --
"no, there is always more."