Hogging my space,
On your face,
Lives a minor inconvenience –
A pimple on the shell,
A little piece from hell,
That only appears
When I think of love,
For it nudges my lips
When I want a kiss,
It gives me blood,
But gives you love,
For it has found a spot
Right on that cheek
Where hides your blush.
It sits all snug
With a crafty smug,
Fuming at the very sight of me,
For it knows I brush
A little too hard,
When I think often
Of your crazy smile.
Most lonely nights,
You run to burst
That pustule off
Its miserable lust,
Dated in a time.
A permanent bump,
You have grown to love,
Why would you get rid of?
How do I say,
It looks good on you,
For it grows so bold
When you smile to try,
And talks so old,
When you try to cry.
Gives you a shoulder
In a shoulderless world,
And offers a friend
In an unfriendly world,
And listens to you talk
Through the mirror
You go often to check,
To touch it softly,
And it melts with pus,
Getting to your hands
That you forget to wash
Before you hold mine,
And I see it then
Creep up on me,
That wicked thing,
A wretch to see,
Want to wash it off,
For I like it clean,
But then I think of you,
And your lovely smile,
I have to be fine,
For it’s a part of you,
For I crave every part of you,
Although it twists your face,
And you look different
Than you used to be,
But you are you,
What you are to me,
And then it hardly matters.
So I try to love,
What can’t be loved,
Even though it hates me true,
For needles are my eyes,
Our feelings remain mutual.
It twinges you,
When I get too close,
And reminds you of its presence,
But that’s not even the worst part.
It pokes my heart
As it just waits there,
Hanging in our private space,
Waiting for me to die.