oh, sweet melissa!
call on me, my raising hand!
it aches
for your sweetly harsh voice
to escape your mulberry lips,
to flow in my direction,
and land on my face tenderly,
igniting yet another spark of my love.
adoration! where is my adoration?
why don't you shower it on me?
am i not superior?
am i not your favorite?
do you not think i deserve it?
why, why is it not me?
why, who?
who or what could possibly replace me?
and i glance to the left and see-
i realize what harbors your focus
on my body of prestige directly near you.
oh, i see how it is now,
for he is in my way,
with his whippings of smart comments
and lashings of bitter, harsh humor,
and his ever-present irateness.
him. the complete a*****e
that somehow gained your love.
hmmph.
what an obsolete outlet for
your sweet sweet fury.
AND WHY? WHY?
what did i do, to deserve second place
in your heart, in your eyes, in your grace,
in your mind, and in your diction?