She tells me,
"You're not a toy to be played with".
But for him,
I really am.

To be stretched thin,
Thrown and screamed for and most of all
Broken and left for the wolves.

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.