The stains of ink on these clueless papers,

The hush of wind that calls your name,

These violent screams I kill as whispers,

I try,

I fail, I try the same

to think of how to let you go,

To forget the things to me you said,

Or whispered rather into my conscience,

Froze that moment, shattered rest.

One pick, a two,

these pieces prick my heart,

One pick, a two,

they say my pain is you

so I'll hug her too,

And pierce myself in doing thus,

Let myself be one with pain.

'Cause if my pain is you

I will hug her too.