I was right.
It was just a contract.
A contract that I framed against the purity of love.
To duplicate the love around me.
To substitute the love I had lost once.
The end was not bland.
It was just right.
He called me a cheat, while I never lied to him.
I told him
everything
that echoed in me,
Every bit that I could hear.
Even the reverberation,
of the echoes inside my innards.
I hoped that it will straighten out,
Today, tomorrow or the day after.
All that he had to say,
Was that it was just lust
and
I, his *****.
Nothing less than the passion of a ******,
Nothing more than the blandness for a *****.
I promised to bury him safe outside me,
As I had just killed him inside me.