I have no excuse for myself, I know [ducks head]*
Oh! I'd forgotten wherefore aught that'd hail
Was never inked, why Tristram Shandy thence
Seemed cure enow, and why I slept fr'intents
In lieu of posting la, my work t'avail.
Yes, sleep was that fine drug which in betrayl
Washed clean the mental chalkboard in defense
Of some remote attempt at fragile sense,
Until he chose to be where--what?! tis stale.
I 'fessed at one weak moment, "I've in poor
'Scuse lo, a crush on...him." Alas. That'd do
Me in for keeps, left swooning as it were
When night 'gain cozened all, and whispring to
Myself, "I wish he missed me too!" Rain's tour
Is sweet, but I'm a mess because of who?
Honestly, I forbore to write anything at all, in hopes of not inking this damning piece.