You used to be somewhat anathema to me
you were a stench you were a stool
you were a succubus
but further down the line
I think you'll find
I can change my mind
that's not a crime
and even though I don't know why, it's not a crime
there seems to be some sort of loop
surrounding me or my activites repeat at an alarming frequency
and in decline
is anything that's mine
sitting in a shopping trolley
crying over somebody you've seen once in the biscuits aisle
and instantly adored is not becoming or convincing
and I know that your'e f**ed up
and it's a thing you can't get over
and it's worthy of our tolerance
but everybody's hungry
and you've eaten all our biscuits
and I I love your bout of gluttony
and even if it's August it
gets chilly in the night
and we're supposed to meet the others in the park
in 20 minutes and I don't want to explain
that you've been crying
over someone else
and that's why all your eyeliner is leaving bits of residue
all over your nice face
and how you won't even remember in the morning
when it's over and in a half an hour
when your friends are all around you
and your'e drinking and you're happy
and the only piece of evidence that you were ever miserable
is the mascara that is covering your cheeks
and maybe me
sat in the corner
when I try to catch your eye
between deluded dreams of getting up and leaving you forever