IRC-Galleria

I can't tell you what it really is.
I can only tell you what it feels like
And right now there's a steel knife,
In my windpipe.

I can't breathe
But I still fight.
While I can fight,
As long as the wrong feels right.

It's like I'm in flight,
High of a love,
Drunk from the hate.

It's like I'm huffing paint,
And I love it the more that I suffer,
I sufficate.
And right before im about to drown,
He resuscitates me.
He fucking hates me and I love it.