Here I sit, silently suffocating by the hands of a ghost I used to call a friend.
Her red nails ever dripping with the fragile essence that once was,
And the image of her face, so elegantly haunting, has been burned upon my eyes forever.
As her hands grasp around my tender neck, all I can do is relive the past.
The good, the bad, the perfect, and the grotesque all culminate into one.
As I slip away, I begin to wonder if everything I know was solid truth,
or if it was all a simple ruse, strategically planned for her sick sadistic pleasure.
Now in the last seconds of my conscious state I know I’ll never be forgiven
For the things I did to generate your undying hate.