The Box

You brought me flowers,

you picked yourself,

Or sometimes roses,

Off the shelf.

Painted watercolor hearts,

and wrote me stupid rhymes.

You were just about as stupid,

but I didn't know at the time.

I don't miss your caveman feet.

Thank you, inventor of socks.

I put away the things you gave to me,

and labeled it "The Asshole Box."

That... was in a fit of passion,

So I kind of apologize.

I guess, for a while there,

You were a pretty decent guy.

In fact, you have plenty of fans,

though I can't say I understand the hype.

Months later, what can I say?

Mom warned me about "the romantic type".