It is an insult to her, and to me
To think of her as a
Better, prettier, shinier model

As if we are computers for you to play with
And then leave on the curbside, spent.

What a fool I was to think that you were here for me
Because you loved me
Because there was something that wasn't fame or glory
That kept you at my side

When I was a rising star you clung to my coattails
And now you are her knotted bed sheets
You are my hanging rope

It was not a twist of fate that brought you here
She has a name.
Her name is me.