my second poem in years

lay as i do do as you do the dripping of the sink reminds of time not everything has to rhyme. But when life does, everything and I mean everything, made sense in the good old days you aren't mine anymore were you ever..? maybe it was borrowed maybe it loomingly towered over you. what is known: granted were the hours in the good old days. the liquidous tapping is a remembrance that every moment was once the present what you have gifted me I will not allow to sour as I lay in this forsaken bed. Biding my time, surviving until, the moment I will finally be free from the memories of our good old days. Though, Nay! I still don't want to! yet it drips.