She says she sees the newest scars
and that he isn't worth it
But he isn't the reason
that I'm counting down the days

Tallying the hours
that I've spent playing house
Trying to find an escape, trying to
Claw myself into the nearest out

She doesn't know the minutes
that I mark while I'm thinking
Or not thinking, depending on
if it's the twenty-fifth

The truth is he isn't here, anymore.
He wouldn't be worth the scarring.
He wouldn't be worth the crying..
But he would be worth the wasted time.