Chances
Every string
Has a start and end
The times our paths crossed
A knot every now and then
And while I think so freely
That the world will never again move me
I continuously try to seek out
A love that was worth the words
I spit out on a page
But each time the strings end up frayed
I’m so sick
Of being tired and boring and sick
That if you gave me the top pick
Of my wishlist
Of what a partner could be
I wouldn’t even bother to pick
I wouldn’t have the energy to try
And like so many before me
I feel somehow as though
In a way
Here I am again lying down and dying
A lonely spinster
Who has honestly forgot
The feel or warmth of true connection and love.
