I don't want you to love me anymore,
I want you to be in love with me.

With less than three months
I'm stuck in a downwards spiral
of clinging to your ankles for spontaneous
break outs of loving me to death
or being my death.

I could pray
I could beg you to stop,
but you break my heart every night when you don't show up.

The bags under my eyes don't represent a lack of sleep,
but rather a lack of sanity,
from chasing a ghost for the past six months.

Six hours to ******* forget me.

Forget your medicine.

Forget to breath.

Six minutes away form your house,
and six words left for you:

dependent, selfish, arrogant, immature, ***-licking ****-head.