You Fucking Tragedy

It's always seemed the strangest to me.
“Give up on the things, on which you've cut your teeth”
that's what you say or at least imply.
Have you mapped me out together with you, alone in this tomb?
Would you rather be without?
If that means finding another way
and another restless soul to share your days;
is that a price, a cost that you can pay?
In two years time will I still see
your face, or will you have sold me out?
I've spent the last 2 nights thinking back,
writing out the words gave me a heart attack.
Recoiling words spoke in trust,
then watching our empires rise and rust.
Midnight on the south coast,
has got me by the throat.
Its time I learnt to let things go,
I've friendships that are gold.
But it shakes me to the core
this fear of growing heartless + old.
To live this way despite all that they say
means more to me than fucking anything.