harraser
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Oct 3, 2001
- Messages
- 2,091
The night is over
A good time was had by all,
Maybe surprisingly, even me.
The night is over
Im tired
Id love to just curl up against your back
And drift off to a warm dreamless sleep.
But I cant.
I picked up my phone tonight,
I was gonna write you a goodnight message.
But I didnt.
I didnt want it to seem like I need you
I dont want to be the one who cant let go
Now without you here nothing seems right
My coffees too hot
My rooms a mess
The lights too bright
The TV in the next room is too loud
Im complaining too much
But even thats just another complaint
To add to the list of things
That just dont feel right without you around.
Everythings wrong
But nothing is quite bad enough
To be worth fixing.
Maybe I dont want to fix things.
Maybe I find this old feeling of dissatisfaction a comfort.
My coffees gone cold
My rooms still a mess
and Im still complaining too much
Im uncomfortable
My homeworks not done
And I cant be fucked writing
Im all over the page
But worst of all
I cant seem to care
Who gives a fuck, right?
Why should I put in the effort
If you aren't going to see it.
I hate being like this.
Im one of those people I always secretly looked down on.
Oh the irony.
A good time was had by all,
Maybe surprisingly, even me.
The night is over
Im tired
Id love to just curl up against your back
And drift off to a warm dreamless sleep.
But I cant.
I picked up my phone tonight,
I was gonna write you a goodnight message.
But I didnt.
I didnt want it to seem like I need you
I dont want to be the one who cant let go
Now without you here nothing seems right
My coffees too hot
My rooms a mess
The lights too bright
The TV in the next room is too loud
Im complaining too much
But even thats just another complaint
To add to the list of things
That just dont feel right without you around.
Everythings wrong
But nothing is quite bad enough
To be worth fixing.
Maybe I dont want to fix things.
Maybe I find this old feeling of dissatisfaction a comfort.
My coffees gone cold
My rooms still a mess
and Im still complaining too much
Im uncomfortable
My homeworks not done
And I cant be fucked writing
Im all over the page
But worst of all
I cant seem to care
Who gives a fuck, right?
Why should I put in the effort
If you aren't going to see it.
I hate being like this.
Im one of those people I always secretly looked down on.
Oh the irony.
