We Lived Through Scars

Break My Heart Right.

James Bay: Break My Heart Right

"Deer lights and runways

We put on a brave face

We write down the details to make us feel safe.

Cold on the mattress sad and alone

I think it's ten thousand minutes till I get home.

Someday we're gonna get to do

All the things we wanted to.

Never wanna say goodbye

You always see through my disguise

You're the one who breaks my heart right

To tear me up and wreck my dreams

I hold your hand when I'm asleep

I don't mind falling for a lifetime

Cause you break my heart right.

Be tender and honest

And sometimes say words that hurt

I'll hold all your troubles, even if you won't

And someday we're gonna get to do

All the things that we wanted to, yeah.

The groan that leaves me is primal. "Fuck!" Struggling to focus with one eye the other still somewhat buried somewhere within the cotton. "Where the? What the?" I question gravelly. Reaching behind me I finger the duvet wrestling with it, desperately needing its shelter from the God-awful sunlight invading the space.

It takes me a minute to fathom where the hell I am. I'm surely gonna kill myself if I keep on going like this. What the fuck am I doing? Seriously though, go big or go home seems to be my new motto these days. When I said I was headed for total annihilation I wasn't kidding. What I didn't explain was, not only would I be the victim of said hideous crime I would also be one of the two perpetrators.

Leaning up on shaky arms I push my heavy self off the mattress regretting it instantly, disgusting drool accompanies me and my sweaty locks on the journey. Unsteadily wiping my mouth with the back of my hand instantaneously revolting myself making me uncontrollably dry heave as I watch the thick glistening saliva take up residents across my forearm and thumb near my cross tattoo. My heavy drunk head threatens to drag me back to the pillows as I glare through squinted lids over both shoulders and tangled hair trying to recognize my surroundings.

"What the fuck day is it?"

Pulling back the covers I swing my cumbersome legs over the side of the bed. Hoisting myself to an upright position awkwardly fumbling for my mobile on the nightstand. I glare at the screen blurred eyes trying to make out the obscure numerals. I ran my sleepy fingers through my long hair feeling queasy and still so very much drunk from last night's suppressed shenanigans. I let my eyes fall shut pinching the bridge of my nose throwing myself back onto the bed angrily, spread eagle and buck naked.

"Fuck! Vegas! It's the Billboards!"

Fisting the sheets I cocoon myself back within their folds. It's been eight weeks since you left and to say I was still fucking beyond pissed would be the understatement of the century.

Depression has set in, I seem to be the only one stuck on pause just treading quicksand I'm struggling. The thought of doing an award show without you for the first time in five years is just inconceivable. The lads have not missed a damn beat though, they should be winning Oscars rather than music awards with the amount of overacting and blatant lying they've been doing lately.