I walked downstairs a faceless figure sleeps on my couch, I was indisposed. I crept outside just to sit down, I didn’t want to wake you up. Wondering what events occurred. Judging by the trail of empty cans, you poured out your inhibitions. I hope I didn’t think too much, I didn’t want to wake you.
Because I know the feeling of regret awaits you, to tear you down, so I didn’t want to wake you. I didn’t want to wake you up.
Was I quiet enough? You were searching for your phone. It was dead. It was nowhere.
Retracing your steps but they were too soft, barely visible. Feeling unclean, broken cigarettes, contemplating possibilities for your next move I gave you a drink of water. I was hoping it would wash you clean, I didn’t want to wake you.
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