I'm wishing on crashed cars and dreams

that I'd written worth your while.

I lie here, waiting anxiously

and imagining your smile.

It's so cold and desolate

and I starve for your affection.

To ink what's worst in lettered thoughts,

I'm addicted to your deception.

I'm so alone and impatience grows

while energy and self control dwindle.

Will you reach my ears tonight,

or will another mixed signal?

Send a detailed sequence, dear,

to my sleeping mind.

I'll replay it into memory

if you're the memorable kind.

I miss you more than I understand,

and I'm no good on my own.

Don't mix signals with my melancholy,

I'll be waiting by the phone.