my upstairs neighbor is waiting
for a girl to respond
he can get better, but better he doesn't want
he just waits, drinking protein shakes

and coming down to talk to me as he waits
discussing the intricacies of women and love
i see his eyes dry up and his skin get tough
dropping a hint of sadness as he closes the door

he doesn't know that there isn't anything more
out there for any man but himself
skirt-wearing trophies, romance, and wealth
won't make him happy, nothing can, but himself

however, a deflationary outlook is not good for therapy
and as the building's sole therapist i sit back and chill
helping my neighbor with all that time he wants to kill
by helping him play the game as if i'm helping him with algebra homework