Defiantly Dateless

You Haven’t Called So You’d Better Be Dead

(MOAR crap poetry I wrote as an angst-filled 21 year old. MOAR!)

You haven’t called so you’d better be dead
The only explanation that I will accept
Keeping me waiting, awake in my bed
Feeling so ludicrous, anxious and kept

Whatever the cause, I don’t really care
You could have stepped in front of a truck
Been mauled by a tiger, swiped by a bear
Or pecked several times by a large angry duck

Don’t get me wrong; I would be sad
I’d cry at your funeral, laugh at your wake
And for you I suppose it would be quite bad
Thinking there must be some kind of mistake

Maybe in death, it would be clear
You should have been bothered to drop me a line
Took me to dinner, bought me a beer
Before you so tragically ran out of time.