"You are a murderer of love!" At least, I think that's how the line went. I scream this all to often. Not at myself or my lover, no. No. I scream this at the content on the screen.

The **** on my lovers computer. The **** on my lovers brain. The **** in my lovers heart. The **** on my lovers skin. The **** that poisons my lovers hard drive. I scream.

My face will never look like hers. My skin will never look like hers. My hips will never be that small. My ******* will never be that perky, or big. My stomach will never be that flat. My legs will never be that long. My hair won't look like that. My *** will never look like that.

I try to compete, but I'm left in the dust. I try to find new ways to please you, but your mind drifts to her. Or is it her? Or her? I bought that lingerie because you liked in on the model. Or did you just like the model?

You tell me you love me. You say that I'm beautiful. You said your life would be nothing without me in it. You tell me you don't want to look. You tell me you want to stop. But, I see you. I see you disappear with your laptop. I hear you roll over and say "Not tonight, I'm sleepy." I feel your eyes on me when I change, as if they were comparing.

But listen. Her skin will never feel like mine. Her laugh will never sound like mine. Her voice will never soothe your heart. She will will never care for you when you're sick. She will never listen to you sing. She will never cuddle you on the couch. She will never hold you when you cry. She will never love you like I love you.

And how I love you.