Some people have a phobia of clowns, but I just have a fear that one specific clown with a beautiful smile doesn't feel how I feel about her

Apparently the world is my burrito
Or so the philosopher said.
While I'm eating my daily bread
I relive decisions I'd like to veto,
And weep for the girl who'll never dance to my tune,
And pray that life, and my luck, will change some time soon.

I would text the devil
I might invite him here
to heaven,
I might
ask
why we split, dude?

Invite him to a Nirvanna
concert,
let him peruse my CD collection.

Ask him what he thinks
of Breakfast at Tiffany's,

or where he gets all those
coals to burn souls
and his long ears.

Then I might pull out an
apple split it in half
and say go for it.

I lack courage to tell you how I feel (that, I know, when you're in my arms) but as I am awfully sick now I bet you make a mean chicken soup

You fear she won't feel the same way and then you dispel all doubt as the self-realisation, you simply aren't good enough for her, manifests

I need to change the way I live, for I am desperately unhappy. But change is something I fear more than anything. What if it doesn't fix me?