You're so tragic.
I should have known better, than to ever let you reach inside me. To let you into where I was my most vulnerable. Your sweet words and gentle smile. Your poisonous teeth, as you buried them into my heart. I've still got the scars on my shoulders. They're shaped like tiny, crescent moons. I've been marked by your mouth, your teeth. You scarred me. You fucking scarred me forever.
The moons on my shoulders.
The holes in my heart.
The lattice work lacing my wrists. Scissors work well, but knives are better.
Would you be ashamed, if you saw what I have become? I am a freak, trapped inside my own body. I hate the light, when I can see. I want it to be dark, always.
Pull the shades,
You're so tragic.
I fought so hard, to maintain control over myself. Never, not once, did I plan to just give myself over to you. On a fucking silver platter. You stole me away; I hate myself for this. I never got over it, and I doubt I ever will, not now. Fucking hell, you ruined it all. Jesus, man, I fucking hate you for this.
Hate you so,
But love you more,
I'm so elastic.
I hate myself, for taking you back time and time again. I hate the way I cried for you, and moaned like a whore for you in bed. Your eyes blazed and your touches scalded me with sweet, boiling ice. You lips claimed me, and I didn't even care. I couldn't care. I convinced myself I wanted to be manipulated, and submissive to your wild anger. No one could ever tame you, could you? I never even tried. Maybe I should have. I don't know.
You fucked with my mind.
The things you say,
Games you play,
Your fucking, fucking games. Even then, I wanted it. I wanted to save you and your sweet fire. And get through to you. How much did I mean to you, then, even as we were fucking? Was I always only the drummer to you? Temporary, in-between. Fucking superfluous. Another drummer in a fucking archive of drummers. You never listened to me. Why would you have listened? My opinion is worthless, even to myself. I don't want to go on, now, the sunlight hurts my eyes. Cigarette buds hurt my skin. Songs on the radio hurt because they remind me of you.
I fell forever for you. And you left me. You couldn't bear to stay, but we couldn't bear to see you go. We're all insane, now. You should see us. You'd probably laugh. A bunch of screw-ups. Perfect for you, really. I could die, we could be screwed-up, together. Like we used to be.
I probably could have done something more for you, even if it came to holding you back physically. From both the drugs and the shotgun. It's that thought - that helpless ache - that keeps me awake most nights.
Your daughter looks more and more like you every day. It makes it hard to look at her, sometimes. I hope she inherited the best of you. Because you were good, as good as any of us could expect you to be, I suppose. You just fucked up. We all fucked up. And now, we're paying the price for it.
The worst part was seeing your body. The picture, of your feet. The lock of your hair, just in view. That picture is everywhere now, you can fucking google it, kids wear it on their shirts. It was the seeing that tied it together, and made it all real for me. I cried. It was the last time I ever cried for you. Until now.
Taylor reminds me of you. Except, he was just... bright. He was day where you had been night. He was radiant, and giving, and I felt safe being with him. The passion and the desire was the same, but with ut that guilt I had felt with you. It was so wonderful. But I fucking misjudged everything, and he fell and I wasn't there to catch him. And now we're here, all over again. Pristine white sheets and cleansing chemicals. Fucking hospital smells. His face is still and his hand is limp, and I'm holding it. It's cold and it makes me cry. I love him.
But I can only think of you.
He's comatose, maybe dying, and all I want is to see you again. I can't even be here, for my best friend. My lover. I've never fucking been there for him. He always knew how I felt about you. He tried so hard to be you at times, I think. Everyone can see the similarities between you, the similarity is so fucking obvious. And it killed him that he couldn't be what I really wanted. That he couldn't be you.
I guess he is you, now. Now he hates himself and he wants to die. And again, it's because of me.
Why do I punish myself into feeling this way about you? I hate you so.
I love you more.
Your dirty magic.