Boxed In

Many years we've been together,
And we've never said forever,
But I'd feel so much better
When I've said the thing I've been waiting to say.

I've seen a change in your behaviour,
And I don't think that I savour,
Whatever it is that's made you
Change your ways.

Do you find me less appealing?
Coz I've got a nasty feeling,
That you're secretly concealing
A dirty little secret cliché.

I've seen the programmes on TV,
It's plain for all to see,
You love your Xbox more than me.

I know that evolutionary psychology,
Studied with anthropology,
States that our homo-sapien biology
Only makes the "in love" feeling last a year.

The reduction of serotonin,
With our good friend oxytonin,
Leaves the tummy butterflies in
Lower gears.

I can see by your expression,
That your snowballing obsession,
Does not help with the suppression
Of my fears.

I don't need a fancy degree,
I can pretty much guarantee,
You love your Xbox more than me.

As you continue to irritate,
I sit and contemplate,
How I'd redecorate
If you weren't around.

It's a sad state of affairs,
As you play war games upstairs,
Not even kinky underwear
Can tempt you down.

Thirty-something guys,
With girlfriends and/or wives,
Seem to spend their lives,
Playing video games designed for pre-pubescent boys while trying to forget their mundane worlds by fantasising about being a pro footballer or a soldier or an assassin or f**king Batman until they've worked themselves into such a pixel-induced frenzy that they completely forget they look…
Like such a clown.

I'm filing for a decree,
Of the Absolute variety,
On grounds of adultery,
Because you love your Xbox more than me.