3 AM

Sitting here
Confused, dazed
The stench of broken hearts fills the air
Smoke curls from the lips silently
Twisting, ever changing, disperses upward into the ceiling
I watch myself talking to you
But you are never here
Cigarettes smothering in the ashtray
A heart can be broken only a few times before the soul begins to
deteriorate
I love you for all the ways you kill me
The longer I lay here
I realize more that my life is ending
I'm always closer to death than I was a second ago
Its always too late for something
Among the crumpled pieces of paper
I think of all the ways I hate myself
I think of what it would feel like to be perfect
Or at least, a little closer to perfect
But its always too late
Razor blades strewn across the coffee table like broken promises
All those fake laughs, fake smiles
Coming back to haunt
The list of thinks I've messed up
Is a book compared to the things I've done right
Always in my head
Like blood on the walls
I could never manage to wash it off