It was all about her and I, separated
by the sheets and the **** of my ego,
and the scratch that left a scar
bleeding once again.

Tonight is a night of cold stares,
of I talking to the wall,
her eyes darting on the door,
a soul wandering what’s left to hold,
but there is none and I’m alone.

The bed is a cage for forgotten sorries,
with the pillow as the lock,
and our tears, the key
to our broken hearts,
It will flow till we regret,
what we don’t know,
Till we are united
by the fluids
of our love,
again.

Love is formed from spoken thoughts,
of disgust, or remorse,
or *** and love,
until our hearts stop beating.