Twelfth Stroke Of Midnight

I can't read between the lines 

Of a letter 

That you've never written 

On a problem 

That you have invented 



Dead stares cut a paper heart 

And beats ink in these pages 

Letters written in regret 

To many lifeless faces 

This is the end of me 

I am running on empty 



Hours spent pouring over these words 

With nothing gained 

All that was lost with nothing learned 

I'm just feeling drained 



This is taking so much out of me 

I am doubting my place as of late 



I wish I could make this 

All my time spent on 

Writing this living lie 

All my time spent on this lie