Anger seeps through my veins
like blood seeps through a rag.

Hatred is in the front of my mind
like front row tickets to a concert.

Betrayal is evident
like the way Van Gogh used paints
to make certain features evident.

I loved you,
or I tried anyways.
Everything I had was put
into you.
But I hit a breaking point,
you can't control me.
I can control me.
You are stone,
and I am marble.
You are flimsy,
while I am sturdy.

I'm sorry that I hurt you,
but I don't love you
anymore.
I don't want you to think
I love you when
I no longer do.