Hi my name is Cardiomyopathy.
I'm 2 years old and I've already had 3 miscarriages.
A run in with alcohol abuse, drug abuse, my noose apparent.

Loose and daring met cruel and caring,
They used to laugh now but cry later loved sharing.
So much for monogamy. Did I mention my name is Cardiomyopathy?
I'm 2 years old with a mild case of marital affairs gone wrong. My mind used to tell me this house is no home.
Careless.
I played dodge ball in a glass house with stones.
Broken.
No real insurance, the love that ensured this.
Was gone.

Every piece of male that she opened, she failed...To pay attention.

Homeless and senseless.

Hopeless romantic my alias. Cardiomyopathy my condition.
Medicated dedication to relieve side effects called intuition.
Treatment unknown and remains at the throne of my wish list.

I'm only two years old. With the stress of a twenty two year cold. Lovely fevers that shake bones that create moans of twisted passion.
My addiction had grown afflicted with my stress and cold madness.

Ah-choo! to be cold Adieu to meek moans.

In retrospect. Mistress was a side downer fueled by sadness, so this cold could live long and wreak havoc; As long as it numbed me.
Recovery at my fingertips and once I'm healthy and bubbly,
The realization that will **** me will be the fact that haunts me...

You never loved me.

I choose to be cold.

My name is Cardiomyopathy. I'm only 2 years old.

The first tear dropped.

Swirling in my love like it would never get sick of your lies,
Going in circles around me and your wife.

Ring around my rosie but no ring in sight, when we're hand in hand smiling in the public's eye —committing adultery.
Our kisses were soft crimes, citations laying on God's nightstand;
All of those repetitive one night stands, the pile higher than the Glaciers in Iceland, slaves to the physical gave way to *** spiked indictments.

Crimes against morality, making a ***** out of she whom was void of financial gain. Cursed by emotional strain which was devoted to drain, every ounce of self worth clinging to that name. Infidelity. Like your juices clinging to the walls of my broken home —outlining it's frame, that color will be scraped and bleached because it represents shame.

It represents a purity the doesn't exist in your veins, and the work of art left on my walls will represent your womanizing ways. For my soul to see, in order for my soul to be —I must take control of me before I fade.