I love you Michael,

your saying this so flippantly, so freely,

not considering the circumstances of your feelings.

I love you Michael,

but this time in a whisper because,

oh,

here she comes.

I love you Michael,

and its a bit louder now,

not because you mean it,

I know because I saw your eyes look reflexively to her face,

searching,

for even a hint of jealousy.

I look to the ground,

choosing to ignore the adoring glances that so frequently send her way,

opting insteadfor the pain of a loveless,

"relationship".

Choosing instead to have love dangled in front of my face

but

never

being

able

to

reach

it.

Choosing to always be second guessing your motives,

and mine.

So when I lay in my bed at night,

alone,

and cry because I feel forced to keep pretending,

I hate myself,

for the stupid fucking choices that I make.