Ribmeat Of The Family Tree

Existential Garbage

8-15-05

Not like you wanna talk to me anymore,
just text.
I'm eschewing technological advances
in hopes of making relationship-based
ones with you.
I walk with a limp like a pimp
'cuz my legs and heart are broken.
You are my cure,
not my cane, crutch, crotch or cache.
I still hold resource enough
to want to make you happy;
help me, show me the resolve.
Make it either
worth it for me
or worthless to try.
My fruit hangs,
please don't let it rot to waste.