nights were spent in dreary talk
          and watered-down affection

ill-advised flirting
          coupled with silent sex

          (a personal blow-up doll)

he was supposed to solve her problems
          too bad he didn't realize

for all his jesus complex,
          he couldn't save her...

tomorrow, she'd be gone
          finally, away from men and memories

          (from him.)

drink in hand,
          she curls up in herself

she'd tell him tomorrow,
          maybe a note on the door

          (no extra baggage needed)

he's waiting for her now,
          for more passionless fucking

she's cold,
          a department store mannequin

she lies there stiffly, complacently,
          writing the note in her head

          (only one more night.)