I wake up in the morning to a breakfast and a girlfriend,
so why am I in bed, thinking about you again?

Maybe it's my shallow chest,because a piece of me,
was ripped out when I threw my heart into the sea.

Is this another poem of a sob love story?
Well they've heard it all before to the the point that it got boring.

Nobody feels sorry,nobody really cares,
So why continue writing this down, anyways?

Am I trying to be against all odds,by swimming against the currents?
Or maybe i'm just trying to understand why we can't be friends.

It's not a puzzle,why I feel this way.
But I knew, that I just have to express myself someway.

I do it on a poem with the passion that you gave,
with the passion that you gave when you left that day.

From the rubbles of my broken pieces, out came,
The will to write, the desire to recite my pain.

Three poems down, and a million more to go,
or for however long it takes for me to finaly let go.

How long will it take for me to shut the fuck up?
Untill I realize what's real to consider it tough luck.

But as long as it takes, i'm gonna keep the fuel burning.
But I will not run on hate, because that ceases your learning.

From the days when my room was like an underground cell.
To the drunken socialite when the hermit left his shell.

The beer did it's job as a temporary saviour.
But to formulate a cure, one needs to work full labor.