loving you is like waiting for the call everyday, all the time,
24 hours sitting on the edge, don't know when i'm being
pushed off. if you left, would i be next? there was nothing
ever wrong with me, i just create problems for myself,
because if nothing was happening then i wouldn't have
an excuse for why i'm so bad at loving you. or why i still do.
every single minute is escaping from the past, every single
minute, i'm wondering which one is my last? second is for
losers, they always taught me that. being second is cutting
my heart into halves- i'd rather be last. escaping in the getaway
car, hoping i don't get caught, erasing the evidence, just to
prove my love. you know that i'd do anything, but you say that
i help too much. if i'm not of use and if i'm not wanted,
then i think that i'd give up. i've centered everything on you,
just to be enough. oh, everything i did, just to be enough.
