Sometimes your knuckles are ripped open and covered in blood because you
just couldn't resist the temptation of smashing your fist through the mirror on the bathroom wall.
You never really liked that bastard staring back at you anyway.
Sometimes the pain you hold deep inside leaves you breathless.
Which is a good thing, cause breathing keeps your worst enemy alive.

Sometimes you lay down, bitter tears leaving trails of eyeliner down your cheeks,
look up at the ceiling painted in misery and sigh, thinking,
"Why, oh why, oh why the fuck was I so damn stupid all those years?"
But you know the answer, oh you know it more than it's possible to truly know anything.
Because the answer's been reciting over and over in your head for months.
"I was in love then. I was happy, and I was in love."

And then sometimes, you try and try, scream and cry,
until all you have left is a sore throat and a reason to die.
You want to tear at your defenses until there's dried blood beneath your nails.
You want to bite the hand that feeds you, and chew and swallow while you're at it.
Cause it's the last thing you'll be fed for a while.
And you just can't force yourself to give a rat's ass.

You choke back the tears, choke up yesterday's meal.
Thinking, "Why, oh why, oh why am I so fucked up?
Why am I so cold and bruised, broken and abused?"
But you know the answer, oh you know it more than it's possible to truly know anything.
Your trembleling lips recall the answer that's been on the back of your tongue for years,
"I was in love then. I was happy, and I was in love"

Sometimes, your frail fingers trace over the pink ribbon scars
that grace your thigh, still leaving their mark from the pain you dealt with
oh so very long ago. You sigh the deep, surrendering sigh of someone
who's been through too damn much to force themselves to give a rat's ass.
And a voice in the back of your head whispers,
"Remember that feeling you had back then? That was happiness, and don't you ever fucking regret it"