O tattered heart that hangs on the thread of my sleeve
he's left us hanging for the last time
tomorrows sun will burn the corners of his room
swiftly make its way to my former lovers face
burn the treachery
if possible  
soothe the ache
and I shall wait
and wait
for the day he wakes
and I am the burning sun
no longer there
no longer the wall he braces himself on
no longer trying to fix
what never was broken