she left her boots
by the door
dying
she killed a piece of me
on that floor
crying
doesn't seem to do any good
not anymore
idling
the day writing
maybe strumming
a few chords
trying
to move through
not past
and my best
not to score
plying
the pages
I'll pen a few lines
and a few lines more
and a few lines more
and a few lines more

because there is no truth
not in ending
not by
the door