We had a few beers, and then a few more...
The empty box flattened on the floor,
read something like twenty-four.

We danced to made up melodies...
A pair of socks and two bare feet,
shuffled around aimlessly.

"Look at the stars!" you said, staring at the ceiling...
All I saw were cracks and paint peeling,
but I found it was worth believing.

Sometimes I write about you
But don't think too highly of yourself
You're just a book that's gathered dust
On the very highest shelf
Nothing is paid attention to
All the way at the top
It's neglected and ignored
Not important, I almost forgot
The space you take up
In the back of my mind
Is deteriorating by the second
You'll disappear with time
Sometimes I write about you
But it doesn't mean jack
I didn't lose you
You were something I never had
And you never had me either