The patron saint of liars and fakes

I'm holding out and I'm holding on to every letter and every grudge. I pulled myself out of the day we ever had to meet. Are you through with me? When it all goes to hell will you be able to tell me you're sorry with a straight face. I'm all ears and I'm all scars to hear you tell me "Boy's like you try so hard to not look desperate." I'm hanging on. But I still know the way to make your makeup run. Take this to your grave and I'll take it to mine.