Credulous imbecile,
Ever the devils advocate.
A twisted tail, and horned head,
You tower over my aspirations,
Leaving fire and ash in your wake.
You”re of questionable intelligence,
And of moderate looks,
Yet why Is it I envy you,
Quite like I do,

I know you”re not as good as me,
And that is not a matter of arrogance
More a matter of fact,
It bewilders me,
How you, a questionable character.
With no redeemable assets
can be viewed,
With glasses so rose tinted
That in her eyes,
You”re the embodiment of perfection.

The humorous thing is,
No matter how I bend,
And twist and mold
to your perception
Of perfection
Him with out effort
will meet and match it,

Maybe this thing called love,
Is not worth the effort it brings;
For all it does,
Is install pseudo-joy.
Fake smiles on fake fake faces.
Maybe I am one,
who does not deserve love,
It is unclear,
But until the day I am yours
And he is no longer
It will be just that
unclear.