Withered, Tortured Soul

Miss you like hell,
this withered tortured soul
whom is screaming at night,
twisting in its bed
calling out to nobody, everybody, anybody
whom happens to pass
You used to be mine

I hear your hatred
flowing through the crowds
of oblivious, careless people
with churning wraths within them,
waiting to surface
one dark night

You used to be mine

Tasting your salty, betrayed tears
licking them off your cheeks
and warm, feverish eyes
like a werewolf, high on your pain
When you cannot be mine
I have to take what's still in you to give

Miss you like hell,
my poor twisted, tortured soul
withering from within,
your heart a mere chunk of polished metal
which once housed the strongest of love
for life
You used to be mine

Why couldn't you let me keep you?