It’s 3am again. I’m laying in bed with a pain so sharp I think I can feel it. The shards of my heart stabbing me, cutting me from the inside out. I’m dying, but I still smile. I’m dying, but I still laugh. And I wish I could cry but all that’s left inside of me are the empty graves of the people who once said they loved me too. And I can’t blame them for leaving because I’ve had dreams of shedding my skin and floating away. Leaving my own body. And thats why I don’t hate them for leaving mine too. But it took me 6 months of drunken weekends to realize that feeling someone’s love was a lot different than just feeling a strangers body inside me. Cold broken pillow talk meant nothing when the sun came up. My body was just a favor of the night. So I wrapped myself up. I locked my body tight in an imprisonment of promises I struggled not to break. But drunken weekends turned into drunken days and instead of a strangers bed I found myself on my bathroom floor. And I don’t know if the pain in my back hurt as much as the pain of feeling used but my fucking god I just wanna wake up to a set of eyes that are as happy to see me in the morning as they were the night before. But here I am. It’s 3am again and I’m laying in bed. And although I think my heart has shattered so many times it may never be able to heal, I wish I was laying in yours.
3am.Thoughts 