Bone Tissue.

It's the taste of sick cigarettes underneath my mouth as you breathe. And it's the way I watch you die underneath her fucking arms, you sordid, sordid boy. I hate myself for watching you, I hate myself for never getting up the guts to tell you exactly what you mean to me. Maybe what you meant to me. And now I've lost you, and I'm losing the contents of my stomach. They spill onto the porcelain bowl and splash back at me, the playback of the song like vomit on my ears. All I am is bone tissue, lying.

It's the day before you give yourself up to nothing, to death and black and bitterness. The stomach bile is bitter in my mouth and her mouth is bitter on your tongue and your eyes are trained on me as you slice your bleeding wedding cake and I have to leave this place. I have to run away from this city. All I am is bone tissue, cowering.

I almost trip on the wedding gown, I almost choke on the cheap champagne. But I take my tattooed arms and I slither them out and around and between the crowd. Because I can't stay in a place of suffocation, and I can't watch her check into that motel with you. Where we used to be before you got too ashamed, you filthy boy. You fucking fake. You poor, dramatic artist. All I am is bone tissue, breathing.

I hate you more than I hate myself, and that takes too much energy.

I think about you everyday, and in the times we weren't talking I wrote so many songs to manifest themselves in my brain. I will never heal from this, you mark my words. She holds the same tattoos that I do; thick sleeves like things you were never brave enough to do. Afraid of needles, afraid to fucking feel. You're a coward, Gerard Way, and a superstar no less. All I am is bone tissue, mastered.

And it takes me two seconds to walk to the nearest bar and I'm drowning, two minutes after I emptied my guts at a ritzy reception. I'm so sick, so screwed, so empty. And you touch her like you used to touch me, and you're the greatest liar I've ever known. And I'm broken like a leaf, torn in half and snapped like a twig. A twig with fragile bones and no heart. You ripped my heart out and you ate it, you fucking freak. You awful singer. You shitty boyfriend, you mastermind. All I am is bone tissue, dying.

In the best of circumstances, I could kill myself. The bar is hot and its suffocating me, and I hope it'd choke on me a little tighter. I pull at my collar and force myself to breathe, then laugh. I don't care if I drown in my tears, as long as I'm not awake come morning. But the sad thing is I'll keep on living; I'll keep living to let you live your dream. You fucking rockstar. Entitled bitch. Cheap romantic with your filthy ways. All I am is bone tissue, fooling.

These are the moments where I wish I wasn't such a coward, and I knew how to tap the barrel of the gun and pull the trigger. I want the taste of not cigarettes, but a bullet right between the teeth. But I'm too weak to think of these things, and you're too preoccupied with a raven haired girl and a shitty wedding. Well, two can play that game. I could move on from you, too. All I am is bone tissue, asking.

But I'll still never measure up. You've gotten every single wish, and I'm stuck sitting here with a blank stare at the barstool. You used me, you made me do this. Fall in love with you, give you everything, dare to sacrifice it all. But I thought you might have felt the same, I thought you might take a walk underneath the bridge gaps and tell the world what you really are. All I am is bone tissue, wanting.

But you keep hiding. You always do.

You dye your hair and change your clothes. You change your sound, your thoughts, the empty sound of your mind and the shit lyrics that really make my heart hurt. Like you write these songs for me, looking right at me while you scream about how you don't love me like you did yesterday. I'll be damned if I don't wake up with tears soaking the pillowcase and those cheap limericks on my mouth. You goddamn player, you desperate shit. I can't breathe in this room, I'm too drunk. All I am is bone tissue, slurring.

They kick me out because I'm a mess, send me with a cab to the hotel lobby. There's a suite here with two bottles of champagne where wife and groom will break their beds. I don't care to think too hard about it. But the sick thing is, I do. And I wonder if I'll ever measure up to her, and if I'll ever be what you need. The way you pushed me off onstage, the way I tried so hard. Maybe that was just some fucking metaphor for us. But you don't care for us. I don't know if you ever did. All I am is bone tissue, breaking.

My room is clean and bright an small, and right near yours so I can hear the noise. You probably did that on purpose. But I'll take your abuse because I love this band. Bob was smart, he knew what you were. A drama queen, entitled through time. Party poison, a fucking nuisance. You've killed the light in my eyes and you're proud. All I am now is bone tissue, wasting.

And all I can do is sleep, because I can't bear to think of your lips crashing into hers.

But you'll never taste my cigarette mouth, never.