I reach for a hand that's not there. You smile and fall and put on a stare, you're scared, you're lost, and for christ's sake, your eyes aren't deceiving your biggest mistake. You skip hearts you drown beats and you're starting to scare me, losing grip, fighting reality, you're starting to tear away my biggest defence, my violent arguments and for once in your life you're shutting me up. You're telling me you've had enough. And with a simple brush, of lips you declare you're going to give me your courage, your everything. Even that burning sting developing behind your eyes when you're dying to cry, covering up lies, devoring obvious ties. I know it's not the same (fingers moving, heart racing) and it's definetly not the fame (shaking arms, kissing teeth) but maybe it's the shame. Yeah, it's gotta be the shame. Biting skin, licking flesh, devouring this mess of an excuse of an illusion of a girl, a silhouette of perfection mixed with neglation, cut and diced with rejection. I'll love you, you'll love me, we'll both be happy. You've got it all in your head, but you'll dread what I've said and you can't help but say, "I promise everything'll be okay."

We both drown in our secrets and hell, we drown in our lust, this shit's a bust but no one's making a fuss. And we're trying to keep all of our vows burried deep but amongst stolen kisses our eyes sink ships, but we've seen this before. We've been here before, and you're starting to feel like a whore. Begging for more, hips getting sore. But you despise me and I despise you (fingers moving, heart racing), and I'm sure you want to end me too. Eventually I'm seeing you holding a gun, it's ten minutes later, you're sick of the fun. You put it to my chest and wish me the best, but I'm quick to promise that I'm not done yet. (shaking arms kissing teeth) I watch your finger pull the trigger, body shivers and I feel my heart getting bigger.

I fall to the floor, feet swollen and body sore, I'm screaming in pain from the wound and I hear...

"Two, Three, Four. Baby, you're dying hardcore." You laugh and smile, in a childish style you lower you're forefinger and thumb. Your substitute for a real gun. "I guess that makes me number one."

"No, you're just fucking dumb."