There are letters under my bed,
Addressed to you that I never could send.
They spoke of the many nights I stayed up,
The nights when I knew you couldn't give a ****.
They are stained with coffee and tears,
And every single one of my wasted years.
I always knew something didn't feel right,
I just figured it would be fine later on at night,
I guess it was never meant to be,
I just wish you could have told me.