Waiting.

Waiting, in my anxious grief,
she had the nerve to steal me like a thief.
I wonder if I'll get less nervous in time
as I walk this burnt and broken line.

These girls (who want to sleep with me) -
I can only hope they'll set me free,
because a worry fills my lonely cell.
Yeah, love has come and sent my head to hell.

In gold and in brown my stomach heaves.
Emergency: we'll burn these dying leaves.

Now I'm here at her door, now I'm here in her garden
but I throw up again, so I'm begging her pardon.

And I am outside, all the time
brandishing a stupid, empty rhyme.
Wherein no truth or tact is found
and hope lies bleeding helpless on the ground.