The best morning ever turned upside down to the least thing to remember The bowl’s been worn down to a plate Drunk on love or sober on hate Missing the person who hurt her most Why does she go about her day She wings her lines In a playwright Of her life Too bad it’s not written for her That’d be easier, huh If our lives were connect the dots We’re fortunate enough to draw our own stars Paint our own pictures Roll our own clay But how much easier it’d be to live someone else’s life But she looks into his eyes And there it is- the emptiness grasps her He looks at her face Misses the passion in her eyes She held a knife to his throat He didn’t give a **** So she gave up But couldn’t forget The flowers he gave or the heart he took