You made me call you in the hospital, once you checked yourself in, for a week away from home because mum and dad
are scared of the marks on your legs and the smell of cigarettes that lingers on your breath
And I was fucking sick to my stomach, knowing you were killing yourself, with all your bad habits, the drinking and smoke just bringing you down
And I should probably hate you, for all the nights you called at 2am, when you were lying in bed with him instead,
the make-up running around your eyes
And I knew I should have left you, when you started fucking everything up, and I was beginning to feel your cuts like you
were tearing apart my life
I knew you'd never apologise
I knew you'd never apologise
You could have opened your eyes and saw what you were doing, but you opened your mouth for the bottle and your legs just to spite me. I could have sworn you never liked me
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