An angel wrapped in a blanket,
tucked away in the back of a car seat.
And although it felt precious at the time, it was mean.
So now I'm purposely starving,
waiting for that dreadful phone just to ring.
And until it does just that, I won't do a thing.
God has played a mean joke on me,
and now he's snickering behind some tree
along with all of those other lovers I treated so poorly.
Our love lives patiently await
for the mind and body just to agree.
They bicker, act very coarsely, and misquote me.
And now I'm covered in cob webs,
dust collecting from my head to my feet.
Someone better shake up these bones before it smothers me.