Twelve-Thirty a.m.
But I'm waking up at six and I'm having trouble sleeping because I feel like I can't breathe.  I can't breathe.  My heart's constricted, my lungs are filled with liquid and I don't care.  I guess that I don't care.  
I don't know what I'm living for, so I don't bother living and I keep feeling alone but I am surrounded, I'm always by someone.  
They are not the one I want.
I love my family and I love my friends and I don't feel loved.
But I know that I'm loved.
But they don't love me.
Because they can't hold me, they can't kiss me like I need them to.  
But he's too busy standing on the edge of the world waiting.  He can't see me when I need him, he won't hear me when I'm screaming I need love.
Twelve-Thirty-Three a.m.
But I'm thinking of playing hooky and I'll stay in bed a while because I can't breathe.  
And in my dreams he's holding me.  He is seeing me.  
That's all I really need.