does it always come down to a choice
of gourmet food or takeaway?
please tell me in your sensible voice --
no plush carpet cadence with ironic underlay.
you cast a spell of domesticity
with cleanliness and electricity.
i sit in the corner feeling out of place --
you want to arrange me, i can tell by your face,
but you know i'm a mess and never an easy fit,
and i swear i'm not just being an awkward shit.
god, i love you more than politeness will allow,
so why do you sit and view me with furrowed brow?
i know that i'm not good enough for you, just tell me straight;
i've been sat here so long i don't know how much more i can wait.

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