I became so used to you being near
I'm praying to anybody who'll listen, now.
That those forty five minutes will be enough.
A year. An eternity.
Tears fuel my anger and despairing sorrow.
I'll be surviving for that slot of time.
My oasis. In hell.
All that I know, is that when I'm with you,
It's a sin because I've taken you from heaven.
A missed kiss, unsure of what to say.
Ackwardness is our movements, afraid.
No breathing. No pulse.
Home is a feeling I placed in you.