Calling home

If i sit here in quiet,
I'll love you just as much as when we met,
You'll let me smoke and i'll let you rest
It's March, it's August and it's the worst of you stealing my best,
It's the worst of me stealing your best.
I'm screaming but my own blood can't hear
I'm bent over this sink and my insides are failing
In the morning i'm calling, can't you tell i'm lying-
I'm reading today's paper outloud so you listen carefully
But the lines have my words  in between
Can you read them to save what's left of me
Tell him to let me go so i can be,
So i can take back my innocence and naivety,
Back in my mother's arms,
Away from this damn city. 
This layer of skin has your name,
It has silver pieces from that night only you can paint,
I picked them all up right by your bed
Can't you all see the blood on my hands?
Can't you still see it after all those years.