Of course

He would call you,
of course he would.
I would call you even,
who wouldn't?
But an icy coldness
fills me and fights with
the fiery jealousy breathing in an out of me.
Of course he would call you.
And the sitcom perfect situation occurs:
He likes you,
you like another guy,
and that guy could care less.
And I'm the cooky friend there just to make the laughs.
Falling to the ground when I've had too much to drink,
tags still unknowingly attached to my clothes,
the "Laugh" sign lights up when I am around.
But I don't get an arm wrapped around me on a cold walk home.