There's a reason I love these flowers,
Each one has a different memory locked.

The yellow roses of my grandmother's garden, the pink ones found on my aunt's side,
The red one's thorns of a rebellious woman,
The coats of colours of a dead cousin.

The rose garden of above,
Each colour holding someone I loved,
But some other flowers made the cut too,

I don't want morning to come.

My day has been grey, filled with haze,
I thought I felt something special,
But as usual those things fade.

I don't want morning to come.

My night is dragging on,
Like nails on a chalkboard,
Crossing my eyes out.

I don't want morning to come.

To remind me of why I try,
To fall, to break, love and regret,
Every single time.

I don't want morning to come.

To be understood why I,
Come second everytime,
In someone else's life.

I don't want morning to come.

I'll have to explain myself,
My habits, my tears, my regrets and fears,
Like I'm a child I can't say a word.

I don't want morning to come.

But I'm struggling through this night,
There's no stars, no light,
Just a dark empty void.

I don't want morning to come.

I might actually understand,
My actions are better than I am,
Because the immaturity is handled in the dark.

I don't want morning to come.

Because I want to learn you,
Read you, uncover you, like lost pages,
Of a forbidden yet tempting book.

I don't want morning to come.

For you to see me like a mess,
Filled with sociable regrets,
You might learn when read.

Morning will come though...

And I'd understand,
I'll smile and wave,
It's the best I can do.

Because nobody deserves to deal with this.

Static filled vision,
Rips my little ears to shreds.
My heart is stuck with cello tape,
Plastic touch to my fingertips.

Your name reminds me of her,
Which reminds me of summer days.

Your actions remind me of pain,
Stuck in my eyes for all days.