When I smell dandruff shampoo, I think of my father

I guess my nose remembers him better than my head

When I smell a ***** shirt, I think of my grandmother

I guess my nose remembers her, even though she's practically dead

When I smell my old perfume, I think of him

I guess my nose remembers him, and everything he said

Jealousy, what a nasty thing. I was asked to describe it.
Jealousy is when another little girl takes your doll. It's the first time you have a crush, and you see another kiss him on the playground. It's when you look at the other girls and compare yourself. You simply cannot stand to be in your own skin. You want, no, need to be them, to be like them, to be with them.
Jealousy is when you're never quite good enough. There's always that smart kid that shows you up in class, always someone with better grades. When you were almost valedictorian, but someone else got it by one fourth of grade point.
It's when you fall in love and you watch them walk away. It's never enough. The summer before college and your high school sweet heart is going out of state for college, and so are you, but somewhere else. You never thought you could be jealous of place.
It's when you're with your friends and they don't listen to you talk, and they don't notice when you no longer talk. When you're the one alone on the side walk.
Jealousy is your heart, slowly turning dark as the happiness of other peoples' lives dance by, because for you, nothing was ever good enough. Not even yourself.

The only difference between a serial killer and an artist is the ability to control insanity.