I didn't even cry when I heard you were meeting some rich, decent bastard.

I just stared blankly as the warmth you left behind grew colder than the fluorescent light on the ceiling.

My life is stuck like old dust pressed into the floorboards, unable to even fly away, but you shook yourself clean and left.

A guy crawling at the bottom couldn't bear to splash mud on your clean shoes, so I thought if I just went out and got into fights, maybe you'd look at me one more time.

Because when I came to you rubbing my scars, you'd look at me with those sorrowful eyes. That was the most expensive thing in my world.

I heard you're wearing a wedding dress today. A guy like me can't even breathe too loud from a distance, fearing I might stain that dress.

I'll probably rot in this filthy corner like abandoned furniture for the rest of my life, but the deepest, bottom-most part of me still doesn't react to anyone but you.

Go walk into the light. I'll just keep rolling around in this narrow, coffin-like shade.

That's a lie. Don't go. I'll really die without you.