The walls are caving in
and time is slowing down.
My mind is wandering
and I can't make a sound
so I'm pulling out my hair
and pacing on my breaks
always staring at the stairs
unsure what's real and what is fake
but everything made sense with you around
80 hour weeks
not sleeping for days
I come home to an empty house
and reread every page
while drinking box wine
and seeing your eyes
in everything I own
the place you once called home
but everything made sense with you around
when you're away
I'm sleeping on the couch
mixing fiction with reality
never leaving the house
not getting too much done
drinking away rationality
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