You are a knife. And I a drug. Both used for an escape. We were each other's. I was your Sunday smile and you were my Tuesday blood. We lay kissed by the shadows. They were our home. Fake smiles plastered on our face every week once we saw the faces of the ones we hate. I clung to you like the pen ink sticks to paper. You used me when the pain of yourself became, unbearable. Master pretenders, no emotions except one. A look of smug for the people who could never guess the secret we left hidden underneath our regret. Our days are numbered. We have just a moment or two . To think. Of all the wasted days we spent. Sweet cries of pain are all that's left. But we will never forget those days. Artificial happiness engraved in our heads. And smiles on our faces as we lay dead. All bad things must come to an end. But perfect smiles on our face. Glad thoughts fill the space. Never a word of hate for each other. For you were my blood and I was your addiction.