Hello to you again, my dear. Did you dreadfully miss the nights of wild forbidden promises we shared? Or the charms we stole from our hearts?
I know you missed me, for how could you not when I became the best lover you’ve had? You spoke of love. I speak now of hate and fate. Wow! They bloody rhyme!!
As you can see, or read as you will or are: sarcasm has replaced you in my bed.
I go to sleep dreaming up bitter words in which to throw at you when you come to me.
Damn, you won’t ever go away: Will you? No I suppose not. Well and so to you lover. I tip this glass of Absinthe and vodka to the pastoooooooooo. For everything you taught my body. All the ways you corrupted my mind. And to every day your hands touched and teased my skin.
God, did I love you? Yes, perhaps I did. Or as my friend, my only companion is whispering in my ear: “Lust won again, dear.”
Hopefully I’ll hear from you in another year. Damn, did it again. Bloody rhyme.
Reminds me of you. Perfect: Not again ooooooooooooo.
Silently screams, but not for you: and defiantly not because of you.
(Sarcasm is so much better than you.)