I see pictures of you
and recoil
in shock
at the sight
of the face
of the girl
you destroyed
(she wasn't real,
she drowned herself
inside of you).

The only thing
harder than my pain
is how I press the letters
writing messages
to you that
I will delete,
unsent.

I wish I was heart-broken
Sad, let-down, hurt.

But what you've done
is grind this heart of mine
to a fine black powder,
and dust
doesn't pump.

And I'm sick
So sick
I'm vomiting up
black powder
and soon, hopefully,
this stupid aching heart,
will die.

How did it feel to watch me,
trusting you,
oblivious
to all your crimes
against us?

You proved everyone right.

You proved me wrong.

A cunning girl
who knew how
to get exactly
what she wanted
at the time.

What the **** else do you
want me to say about it?

If I cry enough tears
would they please,
kindly drown me
in my sleep?