Another

Another sleepless night.
Another useless tear.
More blood shed
To keep them from falling.
One more thing to hide.
I count,
1...2...3...4...5...6
New things to hide.
Like that old saying,
I paint my sadness red
'Cause that's my only
Form of fun
Or happiness
Anymore.
I didn't feel anything,
And now it only stings little.
Another night wasted.
Another dream lost.
Another day of praying.
So I guess I'm gone.