What Day Is It, October?

My lifestyle is a form of suicide
But then again everyone's is
Mine just may be faster than others
The drinking, smoking, hearing from my mother
That I should take much better care of myself

I spend my life staring at my bedroom walls
The TVs on but I don't care
In my mind it really hasn't been that long
But then reality sets in and It's been years.

All alone in my room
Without anything to do

Except I'm thinking of you
And the times that we spent
Glued at the lips, always attached at the hip
Your special brand of crazy
And the sex after fights
I know that those days are gone
I think about it most nights

Those days are gone.
I think about you most nights.