Coming in Second

You talk about fucking in bed

But you’re just fucking with my head.

Wait, you don’t like that word?

“Making love” is the correct term.


The words you used to get to me

Are fading from my memory,

Because you’re taking too long to call.

I don’t understand you at all.


The only conclusion I can reach

Is that you’re on some fantasy beach

With the girl who’s really yours.

All while I’m waiting on lonely shores.


I know I can’t be mad

Because I knew I was just the latest fad

As soon as you told me about her

I should’ve been the fastest runner


It’s possible for us just to be friends,

But you won’t let this “love” end.

If this is love, why are we still apart?

If this is us, when will we start?


This must be some sort of sickness.

I swear to God, I won’t be your mistress.

But I just can’t put down the phone.

Maybe I’m scared I’ll end up alone.


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