I wanted to apologize in advance for the heartache i left at your doorstep. Please appreciate the beautiful wrapping, for appearance and pretense, which are essentially the same, do take effort. I rang the doorbell twice, and dug the knife in deep. Not necessarily because I wanted to wound you, but mostly because I wanted understand your depths. I wanted to know how far i could sink in.

I forced my way into your thoughts. You didn't invite me in but once i reached the inside of your fascinating head i ran wild, leaving scars on your vulnerable brain as I pleased. I spray painted graffiti on the left brain, carved my initials into the right. I hoped that as the years pass by and the trees do their seasonal dance, you'd run into those scars and I'd force my way into your thoughts once again. Or at least that's what i had planned.

And I'm sorry for making you my voodoo doll. By hurting you i was hoping that i too would feel some sort of agony ,but i think that my heart's ice covering has made it numb to this kind of pain.

I was trying to undo your knots, so maybe mine would fall apart as well. I was hoping that we were two strings intertwined. As the strings separated I realized that they weren't nearly as beautiful, so I backed away pitifully. My knots were tighter than ever, and looking at yours hurt. I'm sorry I ruined your mess. It was all so intentional.

It was because I loved the way I looked in your eyes. They were a mirror I could finally bear to see myself in. But you have to understand that I didn't want to love myself. So i had to make it so i wasn't able to peer up at your irises anymore. Only at the ground as a mumbled my inadequate goodbyes.

I needed you to be a reason to write a love poem, but you turned into another apology, I'm sorry. I wish I would've loved you.

There were times when my heart beat fast. Hypersonic. Like it needed to pump blood through the tangles of veins for the both of us while we focused on one another. It wanted to keep us alive so that we could experience this for as long as possible.

I put you in my mouth. I felt you on my teeth. Then I chewed you up until I became sick of your flavor. Once sweet, the taste of you now nauseates me. This is me spitting you out. Whether bubble gum or boy, neither are meant to last forever. Have I punctured you yet? Is the ice building in your veins? I cannot help trying to hurt you, its an intuitive source of pleasure that can only come from the dark insides that bark through their muzzle.

I felt like a child again as I toyed with your emotions, but as always, games grow tiresome, and I wanted a new doll to run my fingers against. I wanted to create a new story.

I haven't ended it yet. We're in our telescope phase. I'm looking for reasons to leave and you're looking for reasons to make me stay. We both know the latter is much more difficult to decipher in the night sky. Yet we continue our search, destined for the inevitable, but pretending to be oblivious. Slaves to what must be, but patrons of what could be.

I was one of those girls who thought about death a lot and you were one of those boys with balloon lightness, which made you endlessly appealing. I grabbed on to you hoping that you would bring me up with you, but we could not defy the laws of physics set out for us. You could not bring me up, I could only weigh you down. So i set you free, and watched as you floated gracefully away, becoming smaller and smaller.The image is still clear, and the scar still stings when I think about how it felt to no longer be able to see you, and that the fault was all mine. Because I had an agenda for breaking hearts.

But don't pretend like you didnt love your puppeteer. You wanted to be controlled. you wanted something to hate. Because people want something to hate just as much as they want something to love. Because everything is the same. Once you realize the uniformness of the world, you realize why we wear our irises and we convince our brains that everything is, in fact, different. And we decide some things are to be loved and some things are to be hated. But what specifies these things from one another? What is the difference? A world where young children scream at the sight of a flower, and destroy it with their boots until they are sure it is dead? A world where a suitor gives a beautiful woman a bouquet of spiders to show his affection, and she blushes and says that they're beautiful. What is the difference between this world and ours?  Essentially, nothing. We have chosen to love one thing and hate the other and it is complete chance. So when you say you love me, I am offended.

And when you say you hate me, I smile.