A diatribe for you, to show you that we're through, like all the pain and lies and shame; the same thing, never new.
A book I write for us, you sadistic little cuss, as for months I lived without an ounce of necessary trust.
A poem for our bond, of which I'm not so fond, so all I need to do right now is with my heart abscond.
An article of you, and all the things you do, to tear me into many pieces; oh how this day you'll rue.
To you, my love, who has opened my chest and stolen my heart solely for your sadistic pleasure. You murderous deviant, I gave you my world and you set mine ablaze. How, for so long we had love, can you throw it away so blatantly? I may never know. What I will always bear in mind, though, my dear, is on what level you will regret what you have done, for when your other lover uncovers you love another, he, too, will leave you in a flash, lonely, to consider what pain you have caused with your lies and your fronts.
With the utmost sincerity, love.
seafoam*
FriendZoned
edparks10
Antigoddess*
iminlove1208
noseogefil
ashie514