I complain that a thought of me,
didn't stop your beautiful mind;
when you took a rope to flee,
from the despair that turned you blind.

Why would you think of me?
I had let go for your happiness,
not giving a hint that I was at sea;
dying slowly from the heaviness.

A few days of mourning, it'll be alright,
you thought, a few more to move on.
But when you left, I lost the light,
I'm stumbling and falling, worn and torn.