so I tell her that I’m still in love with too many people
to add one to the list

That I hate myself too much
To fathom that anybody could love me

I tell her I am nothing
That I’m barely here

That if she had met me when I was still filled with myself
Things would be different

But I’m empty now

Maybe I don’t tell her
But I think it

I think that I am afraid
That I’m too broken

that if anything else happens
I might shattered completely

And loose it.