It's almost like,
I don't even know who she is anymore.
I don't recognize her.
Yet, her laugh.
It's the same.
It's the only thing I know.
But I'm sure time will twist and change that aspect of her as well.
The cigarettes are burning without her.
"It doesn't even matter"
she's brain washed herself.
Like a zombie that walks among humans.
She's alienated her being to every thing that used to bring joy to her sad soul.
And the music still sounds the same but the tears sting worse.
The echoes of someone else's laughter stings like salt on an open wound.
The jokes aren't as funny.
And my room is just fucking cold.
