Didn't have,
A clue,
To what,
I should do,
About,
Little Black Books,
Tattered with mold,
Before I tire,
And grow old.
Little Black books,
From long ago,
Now forgotten,
Ones not used,
Gone rotten,
Heart felt looks,
Glances in faded,
Address Books.
Secret Love Books.
With special marks.
Next to names,
With childish hearts,
Silly little games,
That meant so much,
I tried so hard,
To stay in touch.
Names are there,
People I love,
I need to spare,
Friendship worn thin,
Can't take a chance,
They get hurt again,
So I take a stance,
And ask them once more,
For a song and a dance.
Now I have,
More dead,
Than living,
In Little Black Books,
No longer giving,
Sexy looks,
To cheer me up,
Like a warm,
Fuzzy pup.
Got a Rolidex,
To file their names,
In a orderly text,
Those who've died,
Gents and dames,
Who used to be
In my Little Black Book
For me to see.
Three hundred
Dead and gone,
As I wondered,
Each day's dawn,
Told them "hi",
Gave them love,
And said goodbye.
Planting seeds,
To fulfill,
Past due needs,
Want to wack,
Dried up weeds,
Drink deep,
From a golden cup,
With new sexy friends
Who will fill me up,
Life Is short,
Memory's long,
Death aborts,
All things vanish,
Without a clue,
Leaving me alone,
Sad and blue.
Saying where and why,
Did time fly.
What about,
Those painful,
Dark doubts?
Maybe I'll request,
A court ordered,
Loving Inquest,
Burried with me,
My loved ones In text,
That I can take to the grave,
Filed In my Roledex.
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Submitted by:
Madison
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