I'm not going to beg, dear.
You might love to wallow-
feel like you're on your last leg, here.
But while I rather swallow
my pride and be hollow-
than be filled
with the anticipation,
I don't have the patience to deal
with your to and fro,
side to side,
out with it already,
I know that you lied.
And I just don't care anymore
but I
don't want to be here
waiting for you
to be strong.
I wanted to lay there
and hold you up to the stars
forget about who
who is wrong.
I know you know
we've got something good,
but I just can't push
anymore.
It's time for you to pump your legs,
and swing yourself,
a little higher.
a little farther.
I can no longer really bother
putting in mine,
when you can't find yours.

Bury the satire under pillows and sheets,
Why is this me?
Why is this me?
I keep reading the stories of older women who will someday be me,
Why can't I see?
Why can't I see?
In the glasses I fill with wine,
In the rooms that smell of pine,
The cheek that's touching mine,
When will I be?
When will I be?
I am thinking all alone
Calling strangers on the phone
"Hey it's me. It's me. Hello?"
I am reaping what I've sown,
Why is this me?
Why is this me?

Not for all eternity
Will sadness streak my cheek
Or curve me with a sightless weight
That bows my kneecaps weak.

Nor evermore shall I mourn
A departure so abrupt,
A constant fixture in my world
From it, so sudden plucked.

Even all time, so short and long
I dare not wish nor pine
Each blessed day that passes by
Each night would ease my mind.

But for a lasting moment
Each smile, each laugh, each breath
The memories shall hold me now
No longer left bereft.