The blood on my hands amounts to nothing. It still hurts to look at you. It always will. You said forever. I guess you meant it.

Romantically inadequate one, it's funny how you think you're perfect.

You think you're so amazing, getting high and yelling and screaming, but what you think is wrong.

I might be smiling on the outside, but never on the inside.

You're beginning to lose yourself even more than I have.