Make It Wrong

I'm living in a more real world then anyone else is
and it's outstandingly raw and filthy
in a refreshing and beautiful kind of way.
Without you in my bed, I'm coming down off a drug
that I want in my arms and God, I wish you'd stay.

Lying on my back staring at the ceiling
I can feel the faint ghost of your lips and tongue.
I roll to my side to feel something new,
but nothing feels as comfortable as old.
Nothing new feels good without you.

The silence is rude and overbearing
the dull pant of quiet catching its breath
for nothing that's worth breathing for.
Even though I know you're home sleeping,
I keep my eyes trained on my bedroom door.

If you were here at this moment
I'd be embarrassed of my behavior.
I'm quick to lose control and I love much too strong.
I'm paralyzed by my blankets
and the walk to the door would be much too long .

Just tell me how to make it right,
and I'll make it wrong.