I was sitting at the rooftop of my house at 2:00 in the morning, going over the last things you said to me.
You left me alone with a torn shirt,
and a cold beer in hand.
So I drank, thinking that alcohol can be a temporary exit out of this mess.
I drank, hoping and hoping that the words you left etched in my head can be erased by your touch.
I drank, feeling the scars on my body.
The scars of questions you left me.
Questions traveled in my head like trains on a subway,
you left me as a broken vessel, never to be filled again.
I am but a personification of my worst nightmares,
wondering if I'll ever be good enough for you.
The questions unanswered are scars on my body.
They are remnants of what has happened to me.
The answers to each will be without notions,
Each scar will show how I fell for the wrong person.