A torn mind with a bleeding heart exists at 3 A.M.

Cigarettes and pens burning through his fingers.
The sorrow of his tears melting through his cheeks.

Her words on his mind,
he felt sadness in his veins.

He remembers the warmth in her eyes,
the grace of her smile,
and the comfort of her stare.
He closes his eyes for a second,
and he felt home.

No sadness can bear what he did,
No agony can compare his own deal,
His sacrifices were all have been in vain.

Now, his pen has broken him into pieces.
The production of agony,
the destruction of his heart,
the remnants of love,
have vanished decisively.

But every letter that he writes is only spelled with her name,
he figures.

He may never see the light in her anymore,
for she was the only light he ever saw.