"But why?"
"Because I'm a selfish bastard and I'm happy with it."
The insanity of excuses, and I could make a million for the days I didn't call. Except the one printed on to my fingertips, it's been dialed so many times. Everyone sees but no one speaks because all the flutters out of my mouth is excuses.
And it was never the thorns that cut me, it was the petals that reminded me.
I've never been here, but hold on to how it felt when I entered. Is there anything better than the illusion of perfection? Or do I fall in love with it because that's what they were?
Let me tell you the truth, I'm not pleading for any escapes. Pounding at the walls and screaming until my voice goes out was never my forte. I bite my tongue at my words because they are knives I am not prepared to use. I've seen them cut before and I still try to tend the wounds, wincing at the sight of them.
But there is a war within me, I know I've been fooled, I've been wasting away, wandering down this path too long. I love those eyes though, and the way I laugh at the words that flow from his lips. I love his hands, and the way they feel against mine. The honest question to ask, is do I know better than to stay?
"If you hate me so much why do you stay?"
"Maybe because I love you and hate it admit it."
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