you once told me you would care for me,
and hold me close to your heart.
you also told me that you would love me,
like a painter loves his art.
i was careless and foolish, and fell for such pleasures.
slightly unsure of all the unmistakable measures.
clearly, you were lustful and unsatisfied with whom i was;
your true colours, they showed, eventually, through fuss.
we fought, and we fought; i cried, and i wept.
it never mattered to you, and so you snored and you slept.
i felt alone, and i felt unsure,
but my love for you continued to grow.
a flower blossomed within my heart,
but sadly only my tears kept it alive.
within days, the flower slowly wilted;
i felt my life, it kind of shifted.
from seeing the sun when i held your hand,
to feeling a storm destroying my land.
i felt its presence cry out to me,
that my love was pure,
but yours was a poisonous tea.
waiting to slither down my throat, until it reaches my heart,
where it targets every inch and every part.
you truly deflowered what was once so beautiful,
but how can i blame you, when i was the one with the illusion.