An empty bottle of wine,
a little pack of cigarettes,
I lost what I called mine
and I have only regrets.
I have my favourite pillow
that I hug every night and cry,
whenever I'm feeling low,
I don't give up, I try.
But that pack of cigarettes
I never smoked, I kept.
If I ever did that,
I will be forever left.
I listen to the beat,
the beat of my heart,
If that ever stopped,
will I be able to depart?
Happily ever after
exist in stories,
mine unfortunately well
is not a story.
__Regrets__
__Renounce__
