He dont breathe.
I watch you at work.
I lay in a pile of rubble at the construction site across from your office window and zoom in with my Kodak Easy Share so I can gaze upon your grace as you type.
I record every stroke.
Only after you get up and leave your desk do I take my unrelenting eyes off the window.
I endure the empty and meaningless minutes you're gone by memorizing your mesmerizing work and it gives me the strength I need to survive a toilet break.
He dont record every stroke.
At night after you fall asleep I drink a bottomless cup of coffee sweetened with unequivocal and irrevocable Splenda so I can watch you dream about me.
He dont drink coffee.
I enchant you in English class by reciting works from Roddenberry, Seinfeld, or Siegel and Shuster.
He recites cliche' from the obsolete and overrated.
Shit, he aint even in our English class.
If I feared that my presence in your life was an overwhelming burden I would not abandon you in the Daniel Boone National Forest.
I would leave you at the mall.
He dont take you to the mall.
I dont need the sun to shine on me to sparkle.
I sparkle like a mother fucking diamond 24/7.
He dont love you the way I love you.