That Time You Didn’t Answer

From this bathroom floor it all looks perfect again. And maybe that’s why I let myself fall asleep. Cold and alone. Lost in the memory of the future that never came. And the dream turns the tile into a blanket of disillusion. And somehow sore and broken hurts far less than heartache. And the floor might be cold, but at least my tears can keep me warm. At least this space is too small for my thoughts. And soon I let the void swallow me whole.