A.k.a Never trust a scorpion
Written while listening to: the sounds of the city at 12:30 AM
The girl who waited is patient.
The girl who waited is kind.
The girl who waited is loving.
But the girl who waited is blind.
Because the girl who waited is faithless,
with the exception of a man.
With whom she’d given everything,
just to hold his hand.
His sermons were sweet nothings,
His preachings laced with lies,
His banter dripped with witty venom,
to feed his kind disguise.
No matter all the times he left her,
to chase another mare.
No matter all the times she cried at night,
’til it stripped her makeup bare.
No matter all the mental games he played,
throwing her head into a fog,
still she waited for him always,
thus the scorpion seduced the frog.
And so the girl who waited grew quiet,
sick of head and heart,
The more she gave, the less she had
in the moments they spent apart.
But he always circled back to her,
that is, when his interest was re-lit.
And the addict she was, the girl
always fell for his bullshit.
For despite the way he toyed with her,
the poor girl thought he cared.
And one day he’d stay, he would, “he must,”
for her heart remained ensnared…
The girl who waited was patient.
The girl who waited was kind.
But the girl who waited is tired,
and slowly losing her mind.