Why do cliches always end up being true?
I don’t want to listen when you tell me something
I could’ve told myself.
Things like, “love always wins”, and “life isn’t fair,”.
So just go ahead and rip my heart out while you’re at it. 

Have me cry over lines of dialouge on a page,
those lines you tell me will soon be dead.  
Leave me lamenting the love of his life,
who’s already suffered so much pain. 
I know why we do this.

This trade of agony.
I give you pain,
you give me fufillment
and vice versa.  
We’re shards of glass in a parking lot.

Wanting to touch each other, 
just for a moment
even though we’ll end up cracking even further
or getting run over
or trampled by an exhausted teenager’s oversizes sneaker. 

So give me the goods.
Bring out the first tear I’ve cried in a month. 
Kill me while you’re at it,
but we all know I asked for it.