I hate you when you play the angel,
Standing in the corner wearing your psychology face.


And I’m silent because I can’t stand the way you manage to always rationalize everything.
Just for a moment I want to view the world as unjust for not folding to my expectations.


And I hate you when you play the angel
But still I sit you down on the living room couch.
And I watch you, captivated,
As you create a neat little list of my flaws over coffee flavoured sludge.


And we laugh about my failure,
Your obsessive little crush.


And I bite back resentment as you stir the sugar in,
Lay on the dissonance with a formaldehyde soaked cherry on top.


And I loath you when you play the angel,
Standing on my left shoulder feeding me your saccharin advice.


But instead of shoving you out the door,
I refill your cup and cry you my manifestations.
Cry you my life.


And I hate you when you play the angel,
Perched by my side.


You’re filling me up like a vase with guilt and black violets.
Your telling me I’m your sweet little devil.
As you play the angel,
Draped in cream coloured innocence.
Your know all insistence.


And I hate you because I know the real you,
Dark crimson and burdened with regret.


And I hate you when you play the angel,
Because every time, I forget.








I always believe you.

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