I hope you're sleeping well
Because I surely can't
When you're gone it's hell
This is just an exhausted rant
About how much I miss you
I'll fit right in with the so called poets
Crying in writing and feeling blue
Knowing that no one will know it
But I'll drop another line
About how my heart is on my sleeve
And that I know I'm not fine
Every time I have to leave
I'm sure I'm stealing from someone
Because all writing is a crime
Everything has been said and done
There is no new line or rhyme
But I hope mine hits close to the heart
Pulls out some passion hidden
Lets you know I can't stand being apart
And that every line is a gift given
In good conscience and spirit
I know my ears are ringing
But do you hear it?
All these recycled notes I'm singing?

There was a time when your lips were painted
bright red-

but this was not when you had painted
me goodbye in the car-park, and somehow
left me grey,

as your little red Volkswagen
rolled softly away.