Here I sit at my wits end.
Suppose to be lovers
but we aren't even friends.
Life goes on and yet it stays the the same.
I am growing tired of this little game.

Over and over the same old thing.
I try to talk, try to explain,
Of course he says, I only complain.

I can't stand to stay
But I can't leave.
So all I do is sit and grieve.
I grieve for the way we use to be.
Me loving him, him loving me.

How long will this last?
Guess I'll wait and see.

By Rhonda Clark
10-14-98