You 'loved' me for all the wrong reasons.

For the way my bleeding heart laid in tatters upon the table; choking back my frustration as I looked you in the eye and told you that my body was tired and life was no longer worth living.

For how two weeks later I found life at the end of the bottle and came to you, tragic and pale faced, tasting like vodka and smelling like old cigarettes in a dusty ashtray.

For how I stayed put as you confessed your sins and telling you with painful honesty that I didn’t care what you said or did, I wasn’t going to leave you, you meant too much.

I don’t where to go from here, but I promise I wasn’t lying.

(I was drunk and obnoxious when writing this, but it's my birthday so I'll do what I like. Enjoy.)