She
is in her bed with the door locked.
the curtains drawn and the lights are off
an empty tub of ice cream is on the floor
next to dozens of crumbled tissues
she's got her music blasting
so loud no one can hear her sobs
her fingertips smudged black
from wiping away her mascarra stained tears
she's replaying thier last conzersation thinking
I'll never get him back

He
is sitting on the edge of his bed
the curtains are drawn, his door is locked
no light is coming from his room
theres a hole in the wall from frustation
he's got his music blasting so loud
so no one hears his cries
his hair a mess from rubbing his hands through it
he's replaying thier last conversation thinking
I'll never get her back