Is my love really merely just anecdotal? Some silly sex story of you to share with the guys after some sweaty afternoon at the match?
Is my love really just so incidental? So much so that you refuse to return the calls I make in the night, screaming for your very soul?
Is my love really so very trivial? So trialing, so traumatizing, that it, that I, that my love, that our love, is really so fucking worthless you leave me on the wayside.
My love for you, eternal and true, is, as ever, simply the worth of a screwed up chip packet, stuffed nearly into a bin that you pass by on the long walk towards the next sweet lover's door.
Is my love really just so incidental? So much so that you refuse to return the calls I make in the night, screaming for your very soul?
Is my love really so very trivial? So trialing, so traumatizing, that it, that I, that my love, that our love, is really so fucking worthless you leave me on the wayside.
My love for you, eternal and true, is, as ever, simply the worth of a screwed up chip packet, stuffed nearly into a bin that you pass by on the long walk towards the next sweet lover's door.
