solitaire, such a fateful game
mow she turns another card
she turns her cards and writes her name on the napkin
she dreams about the house and romance
he promised but won't deliver she waits alone
she waits for years
with dried out hopes
and dormant phone
but they won't help
and fantasies melt
new ones appear
and again she catches him eye pulls away with light too dim
all alone in a bad part of town
she calls his name and runs around
but he was faster
with dried out hopes she waits again
a little ride, a little fun was all
and things made for him
he held her tight, got tired and then let go the strain on her heart
painted with promises
then he left her on the floor
with only the mirror to curse
she believed a lying blackheart
"should've known better"
but how she cried.
Typed by Lloyd Murray lam6057@isc.rit.edu.
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