It nerves me when you love me ‘cause you don’t.
I’m jealous when you tell me, “Never do
anything I wouldn’t” For then I won’t
ever wish I could not be with you.

I do not know the thing’s you do, but know
the things you say you wouldn’t even try.
If I had friends like you do, then you would go,
though you justify every single guy.

I cannot stand this double standard; love
should be a thing we share – not give. And take
my hand. I reach to fingers of
your giving hand, which gives me fake for sake

of your forsaken mind, which loves not me –
then who? – and does your heart? No – not physically.