I hate the floor,
It carries me right to your door,
It betrayes me in our war,
In our game- What's the score?
Maybe I can count my the number of tears that have stained this sad dull floor,
I think the numbers are too high to count anymore,
They drip down my face, slowly with no need to race, because this war has no end and there is no need for them to pour,
Because this is a race I can't seem to quit-my feet glued to the floor,
So my mind has no need to rush-because there will be a cause for more.
Yet my reasons for tears right now isn't something to explore,
Because their reason isn't like the other I've had before,
It's because my heart has no amour,
And inspiration is something my brain decided to ignore,
And it's carved right above my wooden floor,
Inside that dresser drawer,
It's a secret burned into my stomachs core,
And replaying in a roar,
It's a secret that we swore.
It seeps across my wooden floor,
And follows me out the door.
It creeps across my mind,
And chases happiness so far away it's one thing I may never find.
It's turned my heart into something hearts aren't for,
And it comes for me wether I'm indoor,
Or outdoor.
It took me from the ocean floor,
To offshore,
And even though there was no news uproar,
You came to the funeral and what you wore was the cause for the casket-it made me so sad that I was the one who once had it-it was now with the girl who hung to your arm-it was the love that she simply wore for decor.
___________
I might not be back for a while.
