Don't cry from your balcony
of grief strucken tragedy.
I'll cry out your name as just
A trickle of a whisper in the wind
And roll my eyes as you plead
for my hand again.
And again.
Oh, Romeo, When will you learn
My interests shant lie desolate with all
Of your other possessions?
My being is not of an object to flaunt
and prevail.