Love is a party to
which you are not
invited

Ah well, two or
even three steps
short of hate, good
enough, you are
the waitress of his
cold served fate
(eat it, I
insist)

You, ****, have
convinced the one
who hates you most
that in the absence of love
well, here is your ghost

Warm, right holes
right temperature

Oooh lah lah

You cannot go past
those red velvet ropes
the ones meant for v.i.p.s
and certainly not for you
to pass through

Love exits each time
you enter

Love is a party, dear
but not a costumed event
you stake your **** hole
of a mouth as a declaration
of love, you stake your
freakish circus tent

Ten years, count 'em
a few more, count 'em
your sort of love is a war
of attrition

(****, ****, ****
you blinded ***-faced
bug)

Veni, vidi, vucci
go to hell you
slug