And sometimes when I sit on my bed,
Tears on my clasped hands,
A prayer gasped out to anyone who will listen,
I miss you.
Missing is different than regretting.
I don\'t regret ending it,
But sometimes I miss it.
Your favorite song still makes me laugh,
Guitars make me sad,
I overthink table manners,
And god scares me to death.
I want to move on,
But you\'re rotting my heart,
Like mold that never quite goes away,
But you learn to ignore the smell eventually.
I hate these feelings,
Hate how horrifically human they make me.
Blame your god all you want,
But it dosent change the outcome.
I am still rotting,
You are still killing me,
And god is still god.