Treat?

Good boy,
sitting right where I left you,
tattooing your skin with hopeless pictures
they speak, only to you.
Especially when you're lonely,
when I don't pick up the phone.
You can explain away everything,
that's your gift,
to kill,
kill,
kill
anyone that says otherwise.
But with me,
you fold,
with a listless poker face,
and your love is an obvious give away,
that you've not forgotten
a damn thing about me.
You fall asleep with my smile,
pinned to your eyelids.
You can explain away anything,
except me.
Good boy,
stay.