There's a time when enough is enough... and I know it's hard to gauge where that chalk line is drawn, but the doorway's here as a landmark for that line, and I'm kicking you out, into the hall and over that line into blurred lyrics. I'm slamming the door, locking it, and I'm not coming back out until some daylight spills in through the shut blinds again. You dropped my key through the slats in the storm drain a long time ago, and it's gone; there's no way to get it back. I'm checking my broken phone and playing back to you the voicemail that says, "It's all over now." So, if you must die, choke on your own words, when my melody plays, resonating along the “A” string of my violin, seeming to sing "There's nothing left for us here now." Of course, you won't hear it. My walls are sound-proof, and I'll keep my tears to myself. One day soon, maybe I'll slide a CD under the door, and if you're still there you can find it and play it. It'll have directions to the spare key under the mat, but until you've stood that test of time, I'll be in my room, ignoring reality.