"what did I do that you can't seem to want me?"
stabbing home the brutal truth
that no matter what innocent flirtations
no matter how many times our lips brush
or fingers dance on flesh
I'll be left behind
discarded like the unwanted plaything
of a hyperactive child.
always left with the lingering hope
that I would be remembered in a dark moment
of desparation.
and I usually am.
brought back into the spotlight
for a few moments of pleasure
and while still basking in the glow and happiness
of those moments
you shatter them over my head.
never forget that I love her.
I don't want you.
