Thursday, 19/4/18.

17.00
Now we're on the bed in your room,
and i'm about to fill her shoes
but you say no, you say no.
Did she take care of you?
or could i easily fill her shoes?
you say no, you say no.

18.30
sometimes silent things could scream the saddest truth, ain't it right.
like the king sized bed for two, in your mother's bedroom.
It was built for two. 
longing for two pair of eyes that gazed into each other deeply.
longing for the warmth of two lovers holding one and another,
but what i saw, in your mother's bedroom,
was a cold king sized bed meant for two.
your mother probably slept on the left side only.

16.00
the picture of you and your little brother, 
hanging on the upper side of the wall on your bedroom.
how it screams to me, 
was how it scares your mother when you're not around
and she's lonely, by her own.

19.00
we're broken
we're all broken
on our own.
the silence is deafening
i wish you could just talk to me about anything.
about how hurt your feeling was
when your world crumbled on your feet
and you're responsible for holding it together.

16.30
We're just inches away
and i smelled exactly just like you.
but why does everything feel so far away?
you're physically here, all here
but i know something isn't right
everything just isn't right.