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only wimps cant handle broken hearts

i'm trying to save the already dead. because i've already taken the bullets, right to the heart. because me being dead, and nothing, makes you happy. and i've always been up for making you happy, even if it means dying. slowly. painfully.
now these stares are inward. and whether its you voice, your smile, or you...this has taken a lot longer than i had planned.
because we are both to blame for the murder. because we both had our fingers on the trigger. we both are to blame for the murder. not me, not you, us (for the last time), together.
and my face has never been the same.
yea, you miss my voice, my smile, you miss me. but that doesn't mean you've grown legs to walk back into me.
and i'm not sure i have enough legs to walk back into you.
even though sometimes it feels like i would do anything to be inside of you. and as much as i wish i could cut it out of my heart. and as much as i wish i could cut it out of me. i can throw away everything, but i can't throw away a thought. because i miss it too.

so why can't two people who miss it find a clear enough path to walk on?
it's funny how a second can destroy the whole face of the earth and destroy the coast. but 3 weeks isn't long enough to get you out of me.
i never wanted you to know this. i want to be strong. i've tried so hard to be strong, enough.
you don't think we can do it?

9:49 p.m. - 2005-09-05

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