I wrote you poems,
I've written you a million lines.
You don't deserve a word,
you deserve none of my sighs.
For you've tricked me
into believing
that love was kind this time
but you ran out of fuel;
Unmoving, unloving.
An empty space behind your eyes.
Now what sleeps next to me
is a living corpse
whose actions show no remorse.
I will turn my car into a hearse
and take you down below to end this curse.