Pamela Visits The Biltmore

I have misplaced the lid to cover my insides
I made a new one of aluminum foil
My guts don’t stay as fresh as they should
This happens every time she leaves

Everything I eat is shrink-wrapped in cellophane
I bask in the downright lowness of it
Until I start to lose the taste of her cheek
And depression is not as much fun as it once was

But it bucks the bard up doesn’t it?
To be alone, poorly fed, and unbathed
She will return and read this you know
You are reading it now aren’t you honey?

This is what I do when you go away
I become this romantic, pitiful creature
Excited to be alone and turning the color of fall
Turning bright orange until I’m crispy enough to fall

The wind breaks me off after twenty four hours
And what I would give to be green again
To feel spring and summer blow through the door
Wearing an unseasonably warm smile