I look at her and poison slips from my tongue-
Competition.
I smack my bubblegum in hopes that you can hear it across the room.
What does she have that I don’t?
A shield you pull out in unworthy discussions about...H E R.
You protect her as if she’s a wounded kitten found in a swampy sewer.
Disgust fills my empty veins as you inhale your menthol cloud.
All I can do is **** people with words, tongue ties, and depths of unknown worlds.
When all I wish you would tell her is:

I. Am. Done. Talking. To. You. About. Her.