You left before you had to see the person I would turn into.
The person you turned me into to.

A person you couldn't love, because you couldn't even love yourself after it happened to you.

I still don't think you have fully healed, and running away from your mistakes and misplacing the blame is never going to mend you.

You drag my body across state lines, rubbing rocks and pebbles into my fresh wounds.
Red is such an attractive color.
Do you still want my rouge on your lips and my bleeding hands on your tip.

You will lie that there was no connection between us-you don't even remember who I am.
You lie through your teeth, ignoring the feeling of my tongue in the same mouth that says 'she has changed since high school,' which is the last time you admit to being infatuated with me.

Tonight I lay in a shallow grave, the only resting place you'll ever tuck me into.
Feeling your hands all over my body.
Thinking about your act of hunger and murder of passion.