You saved me and kept me, then denied me.

Spat on my grave while you whiled away, free from your guilt.

An egoistic, a gymnast of lies. Fireflies and your coffee-colored eyes.

My soft sobs echoed through the night as I was buried in the deepest quiet hollows of the earth, where no one could hold my hand and lift my body.

I can already taste the sweetness of the other side. God forbid me not to, but the only thing that replays in my head is the lips that made me religious. My beloved religion.

Seven minutes before my sapped breath, your face flashed a fond memory—
A saccharine—yet draining facade of yours. Those minutes turned into long-showered hours; I pleaded with the grounds of the earth just to see those melancholic eyes that once captivated me.

If it’s meant to be, then it will be. Thereafter, the earth angered all the religions I once suffered—
You were my ill-fated haven.