you told me your grandmother doesn't ask about me anymore and I've always hated when you told me even the whitest of lies but lately I can't help but pray that you deceit me in every word you speak. Just tell me you love me even if it's ******* fake
   I know these days your chest doesn't burn the way mine does when I remember our sunset walks and "forever" talks and the way you looked me in the face and swore you would love me until you were dead.
   I try to tell myself there's no way you enjoy watching me in pain but isn't it fun for you to be on top? I know it shouldn't matter but does it feel like you've won? I keep telling myself 'this isn't a competition' but I can't help but feeling like I've lost a game with you whenever your only reply to my hopelessness is "I'm so sorry"