What once was a box of memories,
becomes a box of junk,
that represents the very last of you and me.
My faith in you has long gone
and I know you are part of my history now,
just meaningless memories
that don't repair the damage
of my best yet worst mistake.
I hate to admit it
but sometimes the flashbacks start
and I am dragged back in
to everything we ever had;
it still lives deep down inside of my heart
like a squatter I cannot evict.
The way you pulled me in
to believing in almost better,
but better doesn't last.
Little did I know
that we were both lost
and living in the dark.
We became trapped around each other
in such a broken place
inside a burning house
which sent us up in flames.
We were both messed up
more than we each knew,
so lost and broken
that I don't actually know
was was more insecure.
Sooner or later,
I knew we would get too close to the fire
and end up choking on the smoke of our goodbye.
I'm sorry I didn't get us out
before the burns scattered scars
around our hearts.
