I am no saint
I am no white knight in shinning armor
And I am certainly not a perfect lover
But I gave you my everything
Until I was left with an empty shell to call home.
You were my spark; you were my muse
The melody to my heart's radio stations
And within an instant . . . you were gone
Did my unconditional, forgiving, and empathetic love mean nothing?
A storm of tears, pleading you to tell me what I did, to deserve this mistreatment
To justify this misuse, this abuse, of my love.
Yet you stayed silent. . . Quickly stealing my colorful happiness
Turning everything grey; everything meaningless.
Yes, I am no saint, I am not perfection
But I treated you like my Queen, ready to conquer the world
But I guess, you saw me as no more as your peasant
You're pathetic slave.