A cluttered room; Dusty, empty picture frames; Cold coffee and stale toast: Thats all that remains of you. Euphoria is enticing Yet fickle as flies: Flies that flee with the slightest stir. From the mouth of another: "Good morning" will never be the same, And "goodnight" will never suffice.
If I'd known that our last goodbye Would be our last: I wouldn't have said goodbye at all.
And before the sun peeps Its cheery, bright face over the horizon, I roll over and gaze wistfully, At the empty space you left on the pillow, Incessantly plagued by painful mirages: Hauntings of the late euphoria.