You said you'd call today, you promised
I sit and wait, I've checked all day
my phone seems to surround me like a kind of cloak
or maybe a straight jacket, that I can't get out of
This morning, hope was in my heart like a rosy fog
surrounding me, now the fog stinks like the kind right before the Bay Bridge
I remember from childhood, holding a city hostage in stench
My breath seems connected to your call, that isn't there
I know better, I swore off you like a bad habit, like you are a bottle of ***** and I drank
the whole thing, day after day, so I rejected you but then,
I falter, maybe I was wrong. And by then I was hooked, the needle hanging from my arm.
The remains of your drug dripping from the wound
My only hope: not to know your number, to delete it, and delete it,
but I've called so many times now, I can't forget it
This week, I dialed the wrong number twice, such hope was in me
that finally my poison was out of reach but memory shoved you back in my face
The phone, my own phone, mocks me in it's silence
Such a pretty picture on the front, such a smart, intelligent phone
So silent and above me...taunting me, refusing to give me what I want:
your voice, your faux concern, no need for anger because I knew better
You, who I wait for as if my next heart beat depends on it, are no good for me
One thing I've noticed, can't say learned, because here I am again
if things are bad once, they don't get better
a crazy man gave me that advice about another like you
a man with too many concussions who couldn't paint a bathroom stall in a movie theater
without getting fired
and why did I ignore his advice again?
And why can't you give me such a simple thing?  
I know the answer.