Effortlessly, you have disrobed me. You sent shivers down my spine without lifting a single finger. You reduced me to tasteless obedience. You invented a new kind of love called the switch, which you flicked on and off and on and off till my veins short-circuited.
You did this with pride as you shrewdly observed my predictability, denouncing me of my basic rights. You grew tired of me. Blowing me off time after time because I became too robotic for you. I was always too something. Too stiff, too loud, too invasive, too jejune.
Still, I harbored these feelings of affection for you, carefully locked away from your abuse. I loved you I loved you I loved you but that’s ok because you loved me too. Right?
Yet, your love tasted artificial. Like cough syrup, drenched in sugar and anesthetics; your love was useless. It came in all of my favourite flavours, you see. Strawberry and grape and sour apple and cherry. I went through bottle after bottle only to discover the near-collapse highs had muted my throat. My cough was still there. Just quieter you see. Like the rest of me.
I loved you I loved you I loved you but what did you do to me?
I was sick yet you made me sicker. I was happy yet you pushed me over the edge. I was diseased and that disease was you.
I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you.
You robbed me of my voice, of my laughter, of my skin. I felt violated in your gaze. You were a kidnapper in disguise. You housed me in your museum of empty sockets, silenced corridors of haunting exhibitions.
You fucked me over and over and over and over until my lungs felt too raw for breath.
You suffocated me till my naked skin bled blotches of purple.
I loved you I loved you I loved you.
But you twisted that love into something so ugly, so disfigured I no longer recognized it.
I hope we never meet again.