If you are here, you know this is about you
I first saw him as someone sweet
Gentle, a bit lost, and that was part of his charm
But his eyes were always somewhere else
I loved his eyes that changed colors
Sometimes green, sometimes brown
But every day he floated away, no matter how many pictures I painted on the canvas of our future
He always painted pretty pictures for me
And he always said we would end up together.
But I'm too sad and too dark and twisted inside.
And the pictures are now just paint smudges that he wishes he could clean
The last time I saw him, his eyes were grey. No tears. Like a cloudy day with firm clouds, he rejected forgiveness and now it is as if I have never existed for him.
Just a fantasy. A lie. A broken promise. A wrecked heart.
-
Everytime he got drunk, he would repeat how much he loved me
But in every "I love you" he said I could see your eyes wandering away
Not really there
Just walking around with a pet. A play thing. Not worthy of much attention. He stopped in an alley and started saying how much he wasn't good enough for me. I laughed at him and said I loved everything about him. He answered by saying he loved me more than he loved his dog.
I was his shiny new thing. A thing to have sex with. A thing to show around just so everybody leaves you alone about how isolated you are. A thing that you were unable to love.
-
When I heard the voices of the women talking and laughing, my ears immediately recognized his voice
I carried the knife in my back just to see if he was ok
And when I though we could take the knife out
He just forced it deeper
I was left bleeding on my bed, humiliated by every piece of my apartment that I adjusted just for him
Angry for all the little pieces he took away from me
"So tell me love, did you think of me when you were fucking the blonde skinny hooker?"
I'd say not even then. I'd ask if he was pleased.
He left me in so many pieces
He took away two wholes weeks of my life
Sedation, numbness, unawareness. Two whole weeks that I can't remember.
So is that love? Is it worth cutting like edges of yourself just to fit in?
Is love just a promise that we made knowing that we could break it?
Gentle, a bit lost, and that was part of his charm
But his eyes were always somewhere else
I loved his eyes that changed colors
Sometimes green, sometimes brown
But every day he floated away, no matter how many pictures I painted on the canvas of our future
He always painted pretty pictures for me
And he always said we would end up together.
But I'm too sad and too dark and twisted inside.
And the pictures are now just paint smudges that he wishes he could clean
The last time I saw him, his eyes were grey. No tears. Like a cloudy day with firm clouds, he rejected forgiveness and now it is as if I have never existed for him.
Just a fantasy. A lie. A broken promise. A wrecked heart.
-
Everytime he got drunk, he would repeat how much he loved me
But in every "I love you" he said I could see your eyes wandering away
Not really there
Just walking around with a pet. A play thing. Not worthy of much attention. He stopped in an alley and started saying how much he wasn't good enough for me. I laughed at him and said I loved everything about him. He answered by saying he loved me more than he loved his dog.
I was his shiny new thing. A thing to have sex with. A thing to show around just so everybody leaves you alone about how isolated you are. A thing that you were unable to love.
-
When I heard the voices of the women talking and laughing, my ears immediately recognized his voice
I carried the knife in my back just to see if he was ok
And when I though we could take the knife out
He just forced it deeper
I was left bleeding on my bed, humiliated by every piece of my apartment that I adjusted just for him
Angry for all the little pieces he took away from me
"So tell me love, did you think of me when you were fucking the blonde skinny hooker?"
I'd say not even then. I'd ask if he was pleased.
He left me in so many pieces
He took away two wholes weeks of my life
Sedation, numbness, unawareness. Two whole weeks that I can't remember.
So is that love? Is it worth cutting like edges of yourself just to fit in?
Is love just a promise that we made knowing that we could break it?
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