Here I sit, waiting,
waiting for you not to come.
It's what's left of what I felt
over and over for you,
disgusting.
It's lovely to love,
but I keep you like a damp rag
to help me sleep
and dream,
all it ever was.
I won't wait,
as if you were coming.
It was silly of me to
find the right words.
If that was it,
I did what I could,
and then tried more.
Excess is regress.
You make my heart
STOP.
