I’m waiting in my garden for my girl,
all my dreams bend and break around the stems of my roses,
and it’s almost like the more I wish,
the more I lose,
but I still wish,
because I’m a creature of cruel habits.
Maybe she will see me in the spring time,
when the sunshine is a sweet friend to the leftover cold air,
and I can swim away from the constant noise in my head,
that scratchy voice that simply says
“Oh my God. What have you done?”
That one who says that nobody comes and all that I’ve done is walk into an empty room that gets smaller, and darker with every second.