I’m laying at the end of the bed
Listening to that tape I made for you
Tapping my foot and tapping my heart.
I try to draw some hearts for you
But I can’t make them look good
So I start to write our history
And I don’t have the words I need
You’re the bruise that won’t heal
But I insist on touching it
Over and over and over.
I wake up alone
Because, of course I do.
Time ticks on like a love lost, gently.
And faster, faster, GONE.