It's been three weeks
Since you ripped my heart
Straight out of my chest

Yet you're walking the streets
With her on your arm -
Your new marvelous quest

While I do not consider
Myself to be picturesque,
Lovely, or striking

I am daintier
And not impressed
With your exquisite timing

She holds a pulse,
That is the truth
A sad one, at that

But she's merely an impulse
A spur of your youth
Which you will soon regret