Sore sight.

You're just showing me what I despise.
A sore sight for sore eyes.
Jealousy raring it's ugly fucking head and attacking me, tackling me to the ground.
I try to kick it off me,wrestle it but its a feeble attempt.
In all honesty I love this feeling. I love the feeling of conflict. Enjoy it too.
Can I explain why I'm taken under? Yes and no.
I hate the fact all you do is mention other lads. Comparisons if you will.
I hate the fact that you still keep in touch with your ex. He that amazing?
Go back to him. I'll still be here face down in my own vomit. Churned up within my turmoiled soul.
It shouldn't even bother me. Really shouldn't. My minds past the point of reasoning.
Fuck it. Pick up move on. There are no metaphors I want to lay down here.
I've got nothing I can hide behind. Simply the fact is you piss me off good and proper.
And yet I can't leave it. Is it your vagina? Most likely. Is it the laughs we have? probably.
But fuck it. Play your game. Go. Play. Have fun. Just don't blame me when my heart reverts back to the dirt from whence it came.