It’s Valentine’s Day, but she’s only in love with her pot and stolen Ritalin It’s Valentine’s Day, and I’ve thought about love and my friends
But I’ve thought especially about ripping my skin
And breaking my own heart With recurring thoughts I’m convinced I can’t control
Because, if I could Surely, I’d lead myself to feel whole
Instead of broken and busted Bruised and rusted
I’m starting to think I can’t be trusted
I’m a little “I’ll lie and say I hurt myself on accident” prone
It's Valentine's Day, and I'm not sad that I'm single
Just a bit sad that I'm alive.
Just sad that I kind of want to die.