Fiction

He calls me his beautiful future

Now I am my own ugly past

He says that I am his everything

Now I am my own nothing

I am his world, so he says

Now I feel like I am my own pollution

He tells me I have a pretty face

Now I wish to be the razor slicing my own flesh

He told me that he would die for me

Now I want to be his killer

He says he would cry for me

Now I want to be the tear, freely falling

He says he would kill for me

Now I want to be the gun that he points to his

Own head

He says he would lie for me

Now...

Now, I want to be the truth

 

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