Tears taste bitter against your cold bed.
I miss the warmth of your chest, where I use to rest my head.                               Cornered and alone, this bed is all I have now.                                                                I moan.

So I lay here in a position so awkward to describe. My legs are crossed and my arms open wide. My hair in tangles and my eyes blood-red.

I gaze at the tattered walls and the dilapidated windows.
Is this the place we once called home?
Now this place feels like history, a place to see the ruins, Rome?        
Or a past life or a distant memory.

Whenever I trudge past these walls and lie flat on this bed, emotions that I once knew greet me and remind me not to forget.
So I sit up, arms wrapped around my knees, and my head bowed to my chest. I weep. I regret.

Tick-tock. Tick-tock.
Time passes as I waste my tears, my breath, my luck.

Huh, I’m still alive. I'm still breathing.
Just a few more tears, then I'll chuck.