I’m laying on the floor,
Three feet from my bed.
Wondering if there was more,
That could have been said.
I think I’ll sleep here tonight.
I’ll grab that bottle, it warms to the bone.
If I had said sorry, then I might,
Not be sleeping alone.
The ground is cold,
Her words were ice.
My feelings were once more untold.
So I take a sip of the cinnamon spice.
And drift slowly into sleep.