I know I didn't kill you, but I failed at keeping you alive nonetheless.
So what does that make me if not a murderer? It's days like this that
hurt me the most. Finding my eyes empty, and my body cold.
It only gets colder.

Quitting my strongest fixations put the world back into perspective.
Try as you may to numb the heart, morphine and methadone cannot
compete against you, and I never should have tried.

I hate you more than anything in this world. How could you do this to me?
And what am I supposed to do now that the effect has wore off?
You left me in pieces, I'm damaged goods.
Beautiful, but broken in a way you can't notice until you get too close.

Going back on every promise, killing all kinds of hope.
Not even the chance of saying goodbye.
How does it work? How can you do this to someone?

Make this right when I know I'll never see your face again.
Or listen to your heartbeat, or breathe you in. Help me to get through.
Help me be through.
Fix me.

Because you didn't just end your life that night. A part of me died as well.