XCIII.

So when you're restless on late nights,
Tearing old photos off of your wall.
I'm resting. Turning over under sheets.

The promises I made.
I wrote in sand.
Will soon be washed away.
The promises I made.
I built from mounds of dust.
Will soon be swept aside.

Count the steps back to your room.
1,2,3
Count the breaths between my words.
1,2,3
Count the minutes spent in silence.
1,2,3
Count the words I left unsaid.
1,2,3