What counts as love if we are
sick and twisted minds,
one by one, after another,
but never together, ******.

At night you stumble through
at night I whisper closely,
what the hell has happened to you.
Why are you like this, ignoring.

While I was snoring, flirting,
waiting you never seemed to
think about me. Now isn't that cute,
rather rude, sleep arounder.

Accept for once, dear writing man,
the social norms are too strong.