Better Left Buried

There's this voice
inside of my head.
Talks to me
makes me wanna be bitter,
makes me
wanna tear apart.
Make me
wanna self-destruct
and take you all
down to Hell
with me.
My temples burnin',
this temple in ruin,
flooded by alcohol,
frail and weak stone
trembles in the wind.
Body's numb from cold,
mind aflame with thought,
suspicion,
fury,
hate,
questions.
This is what she does
to me.
What she did,
when she fucked me around,
when she toyed with everything
that I believed.
When she showed me
that the happiness
isn't for me.
When she made good
on everything
I've ever thought,
yet dared to hope
was wrong.
Oh god,
how she splits me in two.
How she rends my reason.
How she saps
my very ability to know
how the fuck I feel.
But at least
I know that I'm not alone.
I'm not the first guy to be
used,
lied to,
treated like shit,
made to feel
like I'm oh so insignificant
in spite of all that I fucking do.
Do you hear the voices too?
Do you understand
the kinda shit that floats around my head?
Have you ever
balled up your fists in rage,
at the mere thought of someone,
that your nails draw blood from your palms?
Have you ever
dug up the bones
of someone who's better left
buried and forgotten?
Do you know
regret?
Do you regret
love?