the walls of this room are haunted
the way you used to haunt me
and this room feels like its shrinking,
but the sprinklers won't let the fire
wash it all away

the light plays tricks on my eyes
seeing things that aren't there
i can't touch them,
i can't posses them and it makes me
crazy because
i want just one thing that can be mine
only mine

and sometimes the thought
that death is the only thing i'll ever
truly claim that cannot be taken from me
pacifies me to live without it
but what sort of existance is this
covering the mirrors with sheets,
covering your dreams with dust

getting lost in passions and whims
and l.u.s.t,
what kind of life is this
when you only breathe because you must.