Is there ever a place called home?
When you’re broken and scarred,
and everything is wrong.
We used to be so close,
Now you are the pit of my despair.
The walls built up too high,
It seems as if no one could ever compare.
You broke me.
“I’ll take care of you,” you whispered.
“It seems as if we’re the only ones out there.”
The moment when I realized we were both broken,
But you were too busy corrupting yourself,
Rebuilding yourself for the cover of Society magazine,
To care. About me. About yourself.
Calling me the worst thing that ever happened to you,
It doesn’t solve anything.
It makes me realize that you were never really there,
You were just acting,
Just trying to audition for the next big role.
And I sat there.
And I took it.
Feeling as if I deserved this.
That you were still the light in this dark tunnel.
Somehow, in this twisted world,
I thought you were still the closest thing to heaven,
That I could ever reach.
You ruined me.
I ruined myself.
I did it.
It was my fault.
You changed, because I wasn’t good enough.
We ruined each other, it seems.
I'll be the girl that you once "cared" about,
While you play the role of cool guy,
Burying yourself in uncomfortable waste.
I wonder which role is better:
Being broken down to the ground,
Or still pretending to be someone else,
Destroying your past,
Along with me,
Glued to the torn pages of your history book.
I don’t need you.
I can manage on my own, somehow.
I hope.
