I wrote this May 31, 1999.

Untitled

He sits alone for another night
Sipping coffee, smoking a cigarette
Tonight it was cocaine, but it was life he couldn't handle
He wonders where she is, what she's doing, who she's with
He wanted to know if she ever thought of him
Late at night, like he thought of her
At this time of night, they'd be talking, laughing
Or they'd be having some play time
He missed her voice, she still haunted his dreams
But he was completely alone now
He had never felt so horrible in his life
He hid behind his screen of satisfaction when he was aching inside
He had given up her comforts and why?
Because he was scared she would've ended it first
Instead of taking the risk, he made his mistake
He shook his head, angry at himself
He missed her, but he didn't want to admit it
So he went out late that night to get a cheap thrill
But it didn't make him feel better
The only one that could satisfy him
Was the one that he could have no longer.

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