I've waited for him to sleep
just to have a few minutes alone
so I could hear the softness in your voice
while you whispered over the phone.

I've waited up for you
well into the deepness of the night
so you could cry on my shoulder
when he would cause a fight.

I've waited for the day
he stopped knowing I was your friend.
I so badly wanted to tell him
that I've been in his bed.

I've waited for the day
you and I could stop the secrets.
It was thrilling at first
like winning you was an achievement.

But you're not a prize;
you're human, like him.
So I said goodbye to both of you,
letting everyone win.

It was supposed to be a fling.
I wasn't supposed to fall in love.
But that's exactly what I did
and her touch was better
than any of my favorite drugs.

I'm exhausted from the fallout
of this bittersweet symphony.
I'm falling away to time with
this long clinging misery.

I've grown weary of writing
such dreary poems.
How many times can I express
how much I feel so alone?

If nothing is going to change,
maybe the problem is me?
But I'm as complicated as a math problem
that asks to find the x to the c.

So what happens from here?
After I'm worn out from writing this grime.
Do I give up the only thing
that I ever saw worthy of my time?