I Am the Queens of Comparison

I am a widow and I need a man to carry me
I'm sweating desperation
But you're too dim to pick up on it
It's like I'm standing underneath
The pink flamingo flashing
I will settle down with the first one who swoons me
I am the queen of comparison
So I will fuck you on my floor
In my room, at my door
We'll stain the sheets or wave our flag
But I know we'll never have what I once had with him
Sweep me off my feet and we'll saute our skin
On that dead boy's bed
I want to feel you fuck me
Because there wasn't much to feel anymore
(What if I told you
That you have the most
Beautiful friends in the world?
I don't think so)
With the soul stolen
Frame and magnet
On the fridge
My fucking canvas
That dead boy does not exist.