My friend told me that her number changing ways were caused by guys that didn’t know when to
“call it quits”.
I’ve always had her number, no matter how many times those digits were flipped around.
She told me that I was “the exception”, and that I was different, and that got me thinking, what makes me special?
I’m her friend while THEY we’re her potential suitors until they went too far or something like that.
So take this next poem with a grain of salt, because I wasn’t myself when I wrote this only moments ago.
What Did You Do To Me?
Crazy is four in the morning, walking around, wondering where you are.
Addiction is calling your answering machine just to hear your voice.
Love is letters handwritten and sent with postage paid.
It’s murder when “return to sender” is the only consistent reply I’ve gotten from you.
Seven in the morning is my wake up call.
I’m dedicated to your cause I guess.
I guess you got the best of me.
There will be tears I fear.
When I finally realize that I can’t be with you.
I could dream, but it won’t be enough.
You’ve made an example out of me.
Pretty soon my number will come up.
I can’t do this without some sign, some call & response.
From you there is no doubt.
I can’t be with you.
I made a move and now you’re gone.
Can’t miss what you didn’t have.
It wouldn’t be so bad if I didn’t want you so bad.
Did you ever think about that?
You couldn’t while you were changing numbers and places and faces.
No, knowing wouldn’t change a thing.
I’m just the man on the side, out before I ever got in.
Will you tell them about me?
Tell them about me when you pull them over to you.
I’m the exception, aren’t I?
Or am I?