3 weeks left,
only 3
to inhale you
and forget what you mean to me.
3 weeks left,
only 3
to forget of your existence
just to be able to breathe.
3 weeks left,
only 3
and now that I've identified,
it's no one else's fault;
you're the pain clawing through me.
And I could cry forever
to sad tunes who might
understand me better
than any person could,
for you I would,
Or I could take my shattered heart,
and smother it with dirt;
create beauty from the hurt.