im laying alone
in the same bed where we once made love.
smothered in blankets
that long for your long thin body

I look at my window
and your names still etched in
i dont have the heart to clean it.

Your ***** in a box
In my parents room-
Collecting dust
And quietly whispering
"Reminisce" softly
Down the back of my neck

why do things have to spoil?
whys the thing that hurts feel the best?
why is it that no matter what the sun and moon do
no matter how hard they try
they are a world away.

no matter what I do
I don't think I'm made for you

..and that really hurts.