I wish I could get in… past the rusty nuts and bolts, and into that fucking head of yours and pick apart your brain and find out what youre thinking. Yeah, youre a lush, and I’m more than just a little fucked up. You say you don’t care, you even act it… but when I’m your 2am phonecall, the topic of your prose, I sense this little robot can learn to give a shit, but I’m not holding out.  I never knew if you were going to hit me or kiss me, but you know I savoured every lash because I found perfection in your inperfections… and believe me there are plenty. You say youre not good for me… more like not good enough - and I knew it. Still do. You didn’t have to say it. Yet I chose to be yours. Does this put your ego in check? You like to think you’re the girl in that other boys song, but youre not… you’re so wrong. I’m not sorry for loving you the way I do, truth is I just don’t know how to hate you.