Give me a reason to love the way you fist connects with my jaw and your boot to my shins.
Give me a reason to enjoy the taste of blood pooling in my mouth.
Give me a reason to smile at the bruises on my sides and my thighs.
Because I can't seen to find a damn good thing about the hate you spew out of your lips and express hate in your fist,
but tell me that you love me and all the "baby I'm sorry's.
Theres a cycle of pain that never ends,
a line between love and hate but you don't know the difference.
Now you want me to find pleasure in the bullet i've bitten but there is no more me.
No more me to say another damn "baby I'm sorry".