I've lain here for so long.

"She has lain me down."

That the whispers have become but haunted melodies in my ears.

"She allowed me to become delusional."

I imagine what it would be like, to be in your arms, to be in his arms.

"She cannot be shared."

And the flowers are no longer youthful, like the thoughts from my head.

"She has left me here."

What has rippled, has become but echoes of the earthquake.

And the sparks, have become the fire.

And the innocent, have become the experienced.

"He is my home."

I just want to go back home.