Will This Be My Tomorrow?

Destructive habits are all I've known,

Ways to preservation lost in translation.

So it will be like it was before,

Alone.

Lost in the stations that see no people,

Hollow echoes through the tress who's hugs have grown cold and died.

The days will merge like they did before, filling my head but leaving it empty.

What was meant by what we said?

When it all falls, will you still be there?

And what of the pieces left in your hand?

 Will you put them back the way they were?

Or try to erase the past in front of you?