She
Is laying in bed with the door locked,
The curtains are drawn and the lights off,
The notebook is in the DVD player
An empty tub of ice cream is on the florr,
Next to dozens of crumples tissues,
She's got the music blasting,
So loud no one can hear her crying,
Her finger tips are smudged with black,
From wiping away her running mascara,
She is replaying their last conversation,
Thinking i'll never get him back.
He
Is sitting on the edge if his bed with the door locked,
The curtains drawn and the lights off,
Call Of Duty is in the Xbox,
The controller laying on the floor,
Right beneath the spot where he nearly,
Punched the wall in his own frustration,
He's got his music blasting,
So loud no one can her him crying,
His hair is a mess from running his fingers through it,
He's replaying their last conversation,
Thinking I'll never get her back.