Been wishing on shooting stars for you,
but it seems even a meteor shower won't do.
Seems I've been shoving at this frame of mind,
looking for positivity of some kind.
But you, you just won't cut it.
You'll come and go, spewing out *******.
But I don't have any time for pettiness.
Especially not for a beautiful face so pitiless.

That's not to say mind you,
that I need pity, that's not true.
But some sort of conscience would be nice,
just to be sure you don't have a heart of ice.
You're a fiend for affection,
that's your greatest affliction.
The desire to be desired drives you,
a temptation we all long to give into.

I'll indulge you as long as I might.
In the end perhaps we could be quite a sight.
If ever I can relieve myself of this unsightly vendetta.
Then perhaps we will move forward, things will get betta.
But maybe it's all just wishful thinking.
Like window shopping for dreams, wishful thinking.