Coming in waves of twos,
Still I never manage to win,
It’s the wayward ones that find me,
I’m sleeping with a satisfied smile,
But it always fades too soon,

I do this to myself,
Becoming inured to,
This sort of assiduous self-torture,
Every admonition is ignored,
While I’m aware you’re whoring yourself out,
I long to be the solitary,
I feel like a waste,
Filling my head with obstinacy,
And your ascetic prophesy,
I was certain of your quiet covet,
But I am the one you return to,
After all the damage has transpired.
Use me when you’re low,
Just to get back on your feet,
Leave me, until there is no one else.

Beneficial mendacity sustains my resilience,
and my will to adore you still.