(no subject)
Set the lever to self destruct
For the life of me i cant figure out why you dont scream when they feed you poison.
Or when they pull your death from a pretty box disguised as a double edged sword.
You call it living dangerously, but i call it a nervous breakdown.
you know exactly what youre doing bent over the toilet with your finger jammed down your throat.
You say its for the vanity
Is that why theres scars that lace the upside of your arms, and you rip your hair out in clumps.
I know that you dont fight love even if it comes in the form of bruises on your neck, and a fragile scar down your side.
i know that you take these pills so you dont have to feel anymore.
you pray that your nights spent praying pay off soon.
I know you're waiting for your angel to return with his soft words and comforting shoulder
but baby, angels dont turn their backs.
i know that with him gone it feels like youre choking because i know he knew how to make it all better
But he's heard your cries and he's ignored everyone of them.
The only difference between him and these razors in your drawer is:
The scars he leaves are deeper and take longer to fade.
And i thought you should know that...
he's laughing when that food comes back up from your stomach
when you're laying on the bathroom floor with new white towels soaked,
and pink ones from past nights when you "fixed everything yourself"