you can’t whisper favourite in my ear
and pretend you don’t love me
although i don’t think you are pretending
the truth in my mind is
scribbled and swallowed and affected
by the circumstances and horrors of
my jealousy
i can’t contain it
because you open me up
i want you to open me up
want you to love me more than her
is she gonna be with you forever?
if she is
then i won’t be
i am not even around now
barely in your mind
i’m like fine, red hot, wine
but she was the shot of apple sourz
and your mouth is coated in her
she is tacky why don’t you see that
she is tacky
i bet she smells of cigarettes and benefits
i smell of a levels and a hidden prestige
you like the smell of smoke
you started smoking
she could not spell bourgeoisie
let alone know what it means
i have all these theories in my head
about passiveness and television
and the marxist revolution
about how maths can’t be true
and about the truth and these concepts
and my mind always focuses on you
focusing on her whilst she probably
focuses on you
and i bet her dainty feminine thumbs
type and take pictures of her *******
and every time you open them
you send one back, *****
she is wet
and i am
crying
over another minor tragic flaw
in my personality
my downfall is my delusion
and my jealousy
to believe i am greater than i am
to think that you could love me
i mean
you said i was your favourite
and as you wrapped yourself around me
i thought
this is what it is like to feel warm
it was the late stages of hyperthermia
you put on a picture of you and her
you wouldn’t put one on with me
i don’t think you want to hurt me
but your words scrape along the rusted sides
of a personality i want to forget
but you are so enshrined in me
that your words sound heavenly
but if god existed he knew this
would not be fair
to fill my chest with a heart so big
but a mind full of jealousy and despair.