I've heard everything:
the moans and sighs and cries for more.
Yeah, I know all the dirty little fantasies
you're only willing to share long distance.
I keep inventory of the pictures you send,
the flirts you get and all the 2a.m.
booty calls.
That's not a roll of quarters
in his pocket when I vibrate.
It makes me feel like
an invisible pink unicorn in the room.
If only I could shower the hot breath
and lube-y fingerprints off my buttons.
How many hookups have I reluctantly saved
for you only to never call them again?
You plug me in every night, but never get me off.
Instead I'm used and abused,
thrown against walls and pavement
when you can't turn me on.
But when you're sleeping in the morning,
sometimes I scream at the thought of waking you up,
because maybe you'll upgrade to a smartphone
and fill it with apps,
because our time is limited.
Planned obsolescence made sure of that.
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