Gasoline

I smell heartbreak on my hands

Numb; that was the only way to describe what I felt.

Dried tear tracks littered my face, drying out my skin and making me feel even more disgusting than I already did. A heavy buzz took over my head, and even though I was miserable, I couldn't move.

I knew that the room smelled, that I smelled, like tears and alcohol - like heartbreak - but my head hurt and my thoughts hurt and my existence hurt, so I couldn't bring myself to care.

I feel sick to my stomach as I begin to stand

It was several hours past noon when I finally decided I needed to get out of bed, to stop moping about, to at least eat something. I was already skinny enough, skipping a day of meals would only make me sick. Even with that decision, it took me fifteen minutes to sit up in bed and another five to make myself stand.

But the room began to spin immediately, and it was impossible for me to do anything but clutch the bedside table as I threw up everything I'd eaten the day before and tried not to pass out.

Food, I decided, wasn't really all that necessary, and I climbed back into bed instead.

I see your outline in my bed, in the same spot I watched him rest his head

If I closed my eyes and thought hard enough, I could still feel the warmth radiating off of his body, his arms wrapped around my waist, his head lying on the pillow next to mine.

But then I would open my eyes and he would be one and I was alone again. It was this that finally broke the numbness in me, and I let the tears slide down my face without making a sound.

I've done you wrong, I regret it

All of this pain, I deserved. My own pain for the pain I gave him. Two wrongs don't make a right; regret doesn't make what I did okay, and saying "I'm sorry" won't bring him back to my arms.

I write this song trying to forget it

For a day, I did everything I could to forget what I had done; sleeping, drinking, complete denial. But sleep always ended in nightmares, drinking only made it worse, and he never answered my texts or picked up my calls.

I feel this emptiness in my chest

It wasn't long before the numbness had taken over again. I couldn't eat, I couldn't sleep, I couldn't laugh, I couldn't cry. All I could do was exist, and even that was miserable and numb.

It feels surreal but I'm feeling stressed

The stress set in early on; he was my rock, what made each day bearable. Without him, what did I do? What could I do?

I need to do something, fucked up for nothing

I knew I needed to move on, apologize, do something, anything. But I couldn't. I had fucked up. I fucked up my life. I fucked up his life. I fucked up our lives. And the realization of that paralyzed me.

Now I gotta just tell someone, tell someone what I've done

More than anything, I wanted to call someone, to tell them what I'd done, to take their anger and get it over with so that maybe I could have a friend by my side. Shakily, I picked up my phone, but my finger only hovered over numbers. Eventually, my phone screen turned black, and I let it fall from my hands. I wasn't worth the friendships I had stored there.

I wake up the morning after, you call but I don't answer

It took me a day to wake up in full consciousness, to not have a hangover, and to have no doubt about what had happened. My phone had exploded with notifications, but there was only one that I cared about.