The thought of me is a passing breeze to you,
But the clock strikes 4am. and where are you,
The thunder of my mind cracks and whips,
You aren't here,

You are off, long past my message goodnight,
Probably still awake enacting every betrayal,
Or likely just asleep without concern of me,
Which is worse?

Yet I will hold my broken spirit till morn,
Whenever you grace my humble figure,
I'll hold the betrayal to those same eyes,
That will always start with I Love You.