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.