Limb by limb and tooth by tooth
Tearing up inside of me

I'm getting emotional and teary eyed. I always do in these situations. I never know what's wrong. I'm never told until it's too late and I can't do anything about it. I keep being told I shouldn't listen to depressing music as it's getting me down and it can't be good for my mental heablahblahblahblahblah.

Every day, every hour, wish that I...
Was bullet proof

She's laying under her quilt, in a little cocoon, facing away from me, hidden from the world, me, her counsellor, me, her parents, me, the housing officer, me, her neighbours, me...hidden away from it all. Protected by nothing more than her own sense of security and a blanket. I'm using her, she says. We were sitting, barely 6 hours earlier, talking about how we cared about each other, and how she wanted to spend her life with me, and she thinks I'm using her? This starts me off crying again. How could she say that?

Wax me
Mould me
Heat the pins
And stab them in

She tells me I shouldn't be so emotional. After all, she's had much worse and has coped with it for years. But she doesn't realise the crucial fact; I haven't had to cope with it. She's been abused, and taken advantage of, and given a whole heap of shit by virtually everyone she's met. She's worked hard to get where she is, and she was failed by just about every exam board there is, essentially a modern-day Eva Smith. Meanwhile I pissed away my education, acted spoilt and had a fucking dream life. I don't want it, let her have it. She deserves it more than I do. She tells me to stop wiping my tears on all her toilet roll, and not to flush any, as the toilet in her little homeless hostel (or prison cell, as she calls it) is blocked.

You have turned me into this

She's too mature for me, apparently. I'm just a kid, she's too old for me. She's had to grow up fast, mature, be above the rest. She had no choice in the matter. She'd rather be going out with the wanker down the road, the one she used to mock me with while smoking a cigarette behind the school. He's a laugh, apparently. The relationship isn't working as it is now, we have to start again from square one, but the memories will always be there, haunting us. All through this, while I'm going insane and crying my eyes out, she lays there unemotional, unfeeling, uncaring.

Just wish that it
Was bullet proof

We make a joke together. She smiles, and the smile disappears just as quickly as it came. We keep talking. She doesn't want me around her, every minute of every day. That's fair enough. I remember all the worry I go through every night, wondering whether she'll still be there when I get up, all of the hope she doesn't start smoking again and ruin her beautiful singing voice, all of the hope she doesn't leave me for someone better than the fat twat I am.

So pay me money and take a shot
The hole in me

She tells me I need to mature a bit more. Concentrate less on her, and more on my education. And stop with the Salad Fingers references, please! I'll find it hard, but nevertheless, I'll try, anything for her. She starts to ask me something but then goes "never mind". I work out she wants a glass of water. She tells me not to worry, she'll get it herself. I ignore this and get it for her anyway. Anything for her. I sing a little bit of a song under my breath, bring her the water and ask if she heard me singing. She says no. I explain the meaning behind the song and why I'm singing it. She doesn't care.

I could burst a million bubbles
All surrogate

I leave at 11pm, right on time. I go home, scrawl down a letter to her, put it in an envelope, run back over, stuff it haphazardly through her letterbox and start to make my way out. One of the neighbours asks if I'll be coming back later. I say no, I'm going home. He tells me "Good. Fuck off". I just walk out the door silently and go home, ignoring him.

And bullet proof.