People ask me why I stay up all night in the pouring rain or climb on the roof at midnight with a bottle of vodka in one hand and a pack of cigarettes in the other. They ask me why I cover myself with ink or take 2 a.m. showers so hot my skin burns and turns bright red. Why I hit walls till my knuckles bleed. Why I smoke till my lungs collapse or drink till I can't stand upright. People wonder why I destroy myself trying to fill the hole you left in my life. Why I slowly kill myself in an attempt to feel alive like you made me feel.

Truth is, I've been broken since you left. I've been numb, I've been desperate- desperate to feel anything at all. Aching to prove to myself that somewhere inside I'm still alive when all I feel is dead. So when people ask me why I do the thing is do, all I can say is 'you'. It'll always be you