My War Paint is Sharpie Ink

I'm done playing the victom.
I'm sick of being your fool.
I'm done being hurt.
I can make it on my own.
I'll propose a toast,
to all our memories.
Raise your glass up high
and listen close.
Here's to all the beatings,
all the abuse.
Here's to all the appologies,
all the lies.
Here's to all the empty promises,
all the falling back.
Here's to all my mistakes,
all the regret.
I'll forgive, but never forget,
don't want this to happen again.
Here's to the broken home I once knew.
Never again will I be the victom,
the damsile in distress,
all thanks to you.