Why your opinion remains so important to me is a dead-blue mystery.  I should kill you, you've illed me so.  You've become a part of my mentality at incomprehensible levels.  I’m not attracted to you, anymore.  I'm not sure if I ever was.   I merely ache for you to feel an ounce of what i’ve felt in your presence.  I admire you, heavily.  The depth to my affections is a cesspool.  Commend me as an attractive face, a human being, an actress.  I would validate, collapse, and be silenced forever.  I would embody a mockingbird in strobe light shock.  Numb of emotion, strict pupil dilation.  sifting a wine with the promise of succession.

Until then, let me writhe alone.
I do so well in defeat.