Isn't it funny,
I can convince myself I deserve roses and songs and grand gestures and all the little sweet things,
I can convince myself that I won’t settle for anything less.
But, none of that seems to matter with you.
I worship at your feet that could kick me away a hundred times,
Bruised ribs and skin raw,
I’d come crawling back to you each time.
I’d give everything I own to touch your sweet lips
Or look at that smile;
You could chew me to pieces and spit me out
And I’d still want nothing more than you.
Isn’t it funny that I’d choose to be treated like shit in your arms
Than to be in the arms of someone who would worship me.
None of it matters when it comes to you.
(a.g.)