She reminds me every morning...
I often feign my surprise...
Is she telling it like it was?
Or a veil pulled in front of my eyes...
We seem to real just to beak apart...
To only then morph and mend...
Then I wonder what plan she has for me...
Or were we only friends...
Scars on the table show the past...
Did this fight ever end?
The light stays on whenever she leaves...
The dark scares her, this I doubt...
She never seems to hear, when I say, \"What did I do?\"
Even when I think I shout...
The mist covers my thoughts like the drugs she takes...
Yet is it me that does partake?
Then its dark and I wonder...
Can it really be this late?
Again...where we then repeat the day before...
Looking for the sense...
Or does she keep me here...in her created past tense?
The reminders seem to have been wasted on me...
Or is it done by choice?
To repeat this never-ending loop...
Of my demise that she ploys...
Right in front of my muddled eyes...
What did I do? What did I do?
I guess...I think...She knew.