incapable of even fathoming the idea of being alone so the temporary solution of an unfamiliar bed and a new body seems like the easy way out, doesn't it?
but what happens when the sun comes up and i'm hungover, too weary to carry the weight of his boyish limbs towards a good excuse for the mess we made?
i'm full of regret and too much wine, my mouth is dry from spitting out too many lies, telling myself this is okay for now, this is okay for now
it's fucking not, and i'm well aware that i've destroyed everything i've been trying to cling to with all my might, i've never been that strong-willed
so to make matters worse, i found the crumpled paper you wrote me, remembered how it felt to be handed a heart, bloody and real, and turn it down
the thought of someone caring about me that much baffles me, you know, always has, always will, because i feel like i'm fucking worthless
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