It's a shame really.... how much paper I've wasted on you.
how many time's I've sat in my room in the late hours of the night replaying everything you did to me.... everything we did to each other.
how I bleed on paper, pouring out the deepest corners of my soul to the only thing that will listen.
still it is a shame how I continue to waste words, paper and ink on you.... how I manifest great sentences to describe how you hurt me.
you don't deserve them, you truly don't deserve anything I've given you, but even after your gone I still manage to sacrifice pieces of myself for you.
I'll sit and waste hour's on something that's supposed to be beautiful.... but you made painful.  
I guess in a way, I hold a pen like you never held me....