They say she has it bad,
Taking down the boundaries
She never really had,
Yes, it’s all a bit lethargic,
following what was said,
Trailing eyes and messages
and the overwhelming dread.

Let it down slowly,
It’s a phrase she has heard,
And maybe they’d realize her turn for the worse,
Lethargy, it’s an eight letter word,
But it rules the innards and the outer,
It’s just something she’s learned.

A wilted lettuce leaf, I am.
Look how weak every crease happens to be,
and how sad it is to see me,
limp and soggy,
Skin turned dark,
An unforgettable, unpleasant sight;
Such an unforgiving body, I have.

Go ahead and mourn all the things
that have, and can, and will be.
Lay flowers at the foot of the grave of borrowed time,
kiss the past her sweet goodbyes,
and rest assured the cycle always happens again;
another life gives time a new lover
who she'll take back someday.

They say your past lovers
shape your future tastes,
and I'd be fraught with a dilemma
if it were true,
because I cannot afford to love
another man like the last two.